A Time To Shine
by TwilightWarrior88
Summary: When Lightning McQueen discovers a runaway Mustang in a dusty racetrack alley, what can he do but take her home to Radiator Springs? But Lightning soon learns that there's more to this little car then meets the eye... Includes racing, tuners, slight fluff
1. Discovered

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_** The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars**_** belongs to Pixar; not me!**

* * *

It was only the beginning of the season, really. Ok, so there had been three races, but they had seemed more like warm-ups then actual competitions between racecars. Now that racing was in full swing, however, the competition had gotten dirtier, the drivers more hard-pressed to finish well. Chick was, of coarse, causing wrecks left and right, and nursing his vendetta against McQueen; Lightning simply ignored Chick's self-centered comments; he knew where his bread was buttered.

Now that today's race had finished, the track a whir of activity; camera bulbs flashed, fans yelled, and reporters hassled drivers for their take on the race; altogether, a volatile mixture. Two fans had leapt from their places, shouting at one another through the sea of reporters, as race officials attempted to break up the argument and to prevent the passing racers from being bumped by over zealous fans. Havoc reigned, as one car rear-ended the one in front on it, adding curses and grinding metal to the already stressed atmosphere.

Lightning McQueen ignored all this; he'd found out what to expect in his first season as a Piston Cup contender. The mass of noise following the climatic end of a race was to be expected, as were the hoards of reporters waiting to interview significant cars after the checkered flag had been waved. It was racing, and Lightning revealed in such an environment; _this_ was what he'd been born to do. _This_ was where he was born to be.

However, even for a seasoned racecar like McQueen, it did get a bit tiring. After endless interviews with reporters about the race (which he had, of coarse, won) and an endless soiree with his fans, Lightning was ready for the journey home. He'd finally broken away from all the reporters and admirers that clogged the inner workings of the track; now he headed to a place where no reporters were privileged to enter, and where he could finally have a bit of peace.

Lightning headed for his trailer on the other side of the private lot reserved for the 18 wheelers that pulled the luxurious transferable suites racers used for travel. As he rolled past a dark, dingy alley, he heard what sounded like a muffled sneeze, followed by the quiet revving of an engine. Intrigued, Lightning rolled closer, his blue eyes straining to pick up signs of life in the half light. It was only when Lightning was grille to grille with the other car that he managed to make out anything; a glint of silver paint, the gentle purring of an engine…And two large, hazel-green eyes, staring at him in surprise.

With a yell of shock, Lightning threw his gears into reverse, only to be marred from escape by an empty metal trashcan that hid most of the alley from view. With a clatter of metal-against-metal, Lightning shoved the can aside, flooding the alley with more light then it had seen in weeks. What he saw silenced the cry of surprise he had been about to utter, rendering him unable to do no more then stare in silent shock at what he had unearthed.

In the clear light from the track sat a small, silver Mustang GT, her body dented and her paint chipped in several places; a silver bracelet hung from her left rear-view mirror, and closer examination reveiled the car-charms to be Dale Earnhardt. Her eyes were hazel, but clearly a greener shade then the eyes of Lightning's best friend, Mater; they were also narrowed in displeasure at having been discovered.

"You're Lightning McQueen, aren't you?"

Lightning blinked his voice low and raspy in confusion. "Who… Who are you?"

No sooner had the question escaped, then Lightning felt the presence of two other cars, one on each side of them. They proved to be RPM, a bright yellow racecar (who happened to be one of Chick's victims in said race), and Leakless, a yellow and black racecar with a rather board expression on his grille.

"Well, well, well. What is it we have here?" muttered Leakless darkly. "Find you, did he, Reny?"

This was just too unusual.

"You know her?" Lightning gasped.

"Sure." answered RPM with a shrug of his tires. "She's been hanging around since around Wednesday, I think. Was it Wednesday, Leakless?"

The yellow-and-black racecar flicked his tires in a bored manner, and RPM seemed to take this as assent. "Wednesday, then. She's been doing odd jobs around the track for us ever since she showed up. Little things, really, like fetching a can of fuel or a couple spark plugs; she treats it like it's something big, though." The yellow racecar grinned cheekily. "_I _think she likes us ordering her around."

A light chuckle broke from behind the three racecars, and a red Chevrolet Monte Carlo pulled in beside them. "Sometimes I think she'd run the races for us if we asked her to." Pivoting on his tires, the red racer turned to face the battered young Mustang head on. "Hey, Reny. Looks like someone found you after all." he said with another chuckle. The Mustang grimaced, her hazel-green eyes narrowing. "Hey, Junior." she sighed. Junior grinned in response. "If we keep going at this rate, the whole racing circuit is going to know you're here! Where's the fun in that?!" He prodded her lightly with one tire. The silver Mustang rolled her eyes. "Where indeed?" she muttered dryly. Junior laughed. "I'd better go, 'fore someone gets too suspicious. Take care, kid." He nudged her again with his tire before wheeling around and heading in the direction of his trailer.

RPM and Leakless muttered some excuse or another, leaving Lightning alone with the mildly irritated Mustang. Actually, 'mildly' didn't even begin to cover it; 'Reny' was looking at Lightning McQueen with something that mimicked a death-glare. With a disgruntled rev of her engine and a flit of her rather worn tires, she challenged him silently to say anything about what he had just stumbled upon. Though her hazel-green eyes were hostile, Lightning still managed to catch the anxiety that managed to peep through, no matter how defiant she attempted to act towards his presence. Lightning rolled his eyes, his chassis sinking with the sigh that followed.

"Don't be that way! I'm not going to tell anyone; promise."

The Mustang remained silent, but Lightning caught a brief flicker of surprise, and perhaps relief, before her hood returned to its' indifferent mask.

"Your name is Reny, right?"

"Yah." she muttered, appraising him through narrowed eyes.

"How'd you end up here?"

Reny rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I _drove_? Well, actually, I found out where today's race was going to be, and then I came _here, _and waited for a bit 'till the cars came. I've been here ever since."

"Why here?"

Reny glanced down, her right tire drawing nervous circles in the dust from the alley. "I like racing. A lot." The silver Mustang seemed to sag under Lightning's gaze. "I thought maybe I could travel the circuit: you know, do little things for the racers, little jobs and stuff. That kinda' thing. And I though that, maybe…" She let out a big sigh, and glanced to the side; Lightning did not miss the longing in her eyes. "Maybe I might be able to get a lap or two on the track. Not much; just enough to get a feel for where to turn, where to stay high and low, and how not to run into the wall, and… so on…"

Lightning blinked; this was not at all what he'd been expecting. And yet, he could sympathize with the dog-eared Mustang's longing for the racetrack. That same desire had fueled him from the moment he first set eyes on a Piston Cup race, the reason that he stood right here with sponsor stickers affixed just behind his front tires, and a Rust-eze paint job he always had Ramone paint over when he wasn't racing.

Lightning glanced at Reny with sympathetic eyes, before resuming his questioning.

"How old are you, anyway? It's kind of hard to tell through all that grime."

Reny glared at him, defiantly. "Even if I _was_ clean, you'd never guess right!" As she said this, her defiant mask slipped, replaced by a somewhat numb expression Lightning hadn't seen before. "Strangers never do."

The two elapsed into silence, Reny brooding, and Lighting puzzling over this new piece of information. What exactly did she mean by _that?_ Was she saying that she'd had some horrible accident that had disfigured her in a way that made it impossible to guess her age? Maybe, McQueen mused; although, as beat up as she was, it was hard to tell. Her voice sounded young, but perhaps she had a young voice? After all, ones' voice it not really any clue to ones' age.

Lighting's musing was brought quickly back to the pavement when Reny's voice drifted up through his disjointed thoughts.

"15."

"Huh?" Lightning asked, confused by this seemingly random number.

"I'm 15." Reny peeked furtively at the red racecar from the corner of her eye.

"Oh." said Lightning, realization dawning on him. "So you must have come with your parents, then."

Reny was silent for a moment. "N-no. I came by myself."

Lightning was confused, again. "You came by yourself?"

"I ran away." Reny's voice was defiant again.

Lightning was too stunned to speak; his mind turned over this new piece of information. Run away! No wonder she was so worried about being found!

"Why?"

Reny shrugged, suspicion gleaming from every surface. "I wanted to."

It seemed that this latest revelation was too much for her polished mask to bear. With a squeak of much abused shocks and springs, Reny sank down so that the metal framework of her body almost brushed the dusty ground below. The defiant look slipped from her grille, to be replaced by a mixture of hardness and grief. "I didn't want to live there anymore; not when my dad's telling me I'm a useless lazy lump who needs to know how to work. I _know_ how to work! And I'm not a useless lazy lump! Not like my mother, who spends her days doing nothing, or the wrong kind of something!" She stopped, her carriage heaving with the effort of attempting to get a magnitude of information over to the fellow car that was parked in shocked silence before her. "Besides, they have my sister; my perfectly girly little sister that never failed to please them. Which is more then anyone can say for me," she muttered dryly. "The rebellious one. I've wanted to leave since I was eleven." Pleased with her choice of words, the Mustang leaned on her back tires, her eyes glinting suspiciously at Lightning; the most she expected was for him to drive off and inform someone that they had a run-away who'd been hiding at a racetrack for the past four days.

In fact, Lightning did nothing; if he'd thought her a car that acted on every split-second decision, he probably would have informed some member of authority. From what he gathered, though, she wasn't one to go driving off on a whim; and if she'd been planning to run away since she was eleven… That was four years of weighing the pros and cons of escaping from her parents. This hadn't been a whim; this had been a desperate bid for freedom, one Lightning could end if he wanted to. Thing was, Lightning didn't want to; he understood well what it was like to be imprisoned. Granted, his brief containment in Radiator Springs wasn't half as bad as Reny's containment from her soul, but still… No, he wasn't going to turn her in. Quite the contrary; he was going to _take_ her in.

Lightning stared calmly back into the desperate green-hazel eyes of the young silver car. Reny was perched on the edge of her tires, ready to make a drive for it should Lightning show any sign of squealing on her. "Ah, Reny." He sighed with a chuckle, blinking warmly. "I'm not gonna' turn you in: I promise you that." He watched as Reny blinked in surprise, her voice choking.

"Really?"

"Really." Lightning paused. "In fact, you've been more honest then I expected." Lightning twisted his tires around, throwing her a wink as he revved his engine. "Come on. The track's empty now, and no one's going to notice if we sneak out there for a little practice run."

Reny was too stunned to reply, but her large, grateful eyes were all the thanks Lightning needed. With a twist of his tires, the red racer turned a complete 180 degrees, the startled silver Mustang trailing behind.

* * *

The track was silent now, the fans having left for their own lodgings. Only a few racers remained in the infield; the rest were comfortably ensconced in their trailers, their snores reverberating throughout the air as they slept. For the first time that Sunday, the track was at peace with the world.

Lightning found Junior secluded in a quiet corner, the white number eight on his side bright in the lights of the track; he'd only slipped away after Reny assured him she could find a comfortable place to sleep on her own. Now he parked in silence beside the D.E.I. racer, his engine unnaturally loud in the sleepy stillness. Junior glanced sideways at Lightning, his voice a whisper in the hush of the track.

"Where's Reny?"

Lightning shrugged his tires. "She went to find a place to sleep, and wouldn't let me come with her; she nearly bit my hood off when I resisted."

Junior chuckled quietly. "That's Reny for ya! She's an independent little thing."

Lightning murmured agreement, glancing sideways at Junior. "How'd you find her?"

Junior sighed. "'Bout the same way you did, actually. How much did she tell you?"

Lightning twisted his tires against the pavement. "Just how she got here, and why she came."

Junior narrowed his eyes. "You gonna' tell on her?"

Lightning sighed. "No." He paused. "I did think of taking her to Radiator Springs. She can't just live on the street, and Sally would take care of her."

Junior nodded. "Glad you thought of it; I'd hate to see someone like her out alone." He paused, before continuing more quietly. "It'll be a good place for her, that's for sure."

Lightning smiled. "Glad you approve, Junior."

* * *

**The Proper Pronunciation of **_**Reny.**_ Ren-e

**Notes:** Fist chapter lacking in excitement? Don't worry, there should be a good deal in chapter two.

7/17/08: Fixed a few errors today, and added somthing to Reny's description.

For future refrence, two lines means the chapter has come to an end; one line simply states the passage of time (untill I can find a better way ;) ).

Already have notes for Chapter 2 down. I'll try to get it out A.S.A.P.!


	2. I believe her

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_** The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars**_** belongs to Pixar; not me!**

* * *

Lightning awoke that morning, a rush of blurred images flashing before his eyes. At first, he had trouble sorting them out, until, with a jolt a realization, he remembered the events of the day before.

"Reny!" he shouted, catapulting up from the floor of the trailer and into the south wall. Ignoring the jolt of pain one gets from crashing into your own bobble head, Lightning pressed the lever that swung open his trailer door; his tires made no sound as he slid down the smooth metal of the ramp his door had provided, his eyes combing the area in anticipation. Only when his tires touched the hard asphalt below did he remember that he had no idea where Reny had gone off to. Moving more slowly across the pavement, Lightning's blue eyes searched through every crack and crevice big enough for a small car to hide in; still no Reny. Disappointment washed over him like a cloud, his tires squeaking as he turned to drive another direction.

It was when Lightning was searching a more remote section of the track that he caught a flash of sticker-laden green just behind him. _'Chick.' _he thought, as he turned around. '_Who's he bullying this time?' _

Lightning was broadside to the two cars, and as he moved closer, he caught sight of Junior's number eight as it flashed in the sun. Chick had backed Junior against a wall, preventing the young racer from escaping. The Monte Carlo's bumper had recently been dented, a battle scar Chick himself had caused in Sunday's race. Lightning slipped closer, enabling him to hear what the green racer wanted with the younger car.

"Wreck again, Junior?" Chick taunted, gesturing to Junior's bumper.

"You should know, Chick." Junior replied, coolly. "You caused it."

"You like the wall, Junior?" Chick sneered. "You'll end up just like your daddy, you will! All that fame couldn't save him in the end, could it?"

Junior's grille went blank with shock, his tires locking up as though they'd been frozen by the chill of Chicks' words.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lightning saw a flash of light against silver metal, as Reny appeared from nowhere. In a blur of silver motion, the little Mustang hurtled across the steaming asphalt in the direction of the two cars.

"Hey, back off, bozo!" she snapped, her battered silver body sliding between Chick and Junior with the rubbery sound of tires against pavement. Her voice carried the distinct hint of a snarl, her hazel-green eyes narrowed in a special brand of revulsion Lightning had not yet witnessed.

The green stock car glared at the little Mustang, disgust curling his mustache as he sneered. "What are you, his security guard?"

Reny snarled, her engine revving angrily. "What are you, the official idiot of the sport?"

Chick's sneer became more pronounced, his engine revving to match the Mustang's challenge. "Well, at least I'm not some pint-sized pipsqueak with a big mouth!" he snarled brutally. "I could crush you like a child's toy with all four of my wheels locked up!"

Reny's eyes became mere slits, her tires shifting back and forth as Chick taunted her. A small smile began to play around her grille, and Lightning was struck by her simple disregard to the green cars' threat.

"I'm not so easy to crush, _Chick_, not matter how puny I may be."

Chick chuckled disbelievingly.

VRRRROOOOOMMMM!

Reny revved her engine, so loudly that several racers across the track heard its' guttural snarl, and turned toward the tumult of sound. Chick, surprised at the sheer volume produced by the Mustang's engine, rolled back several yards, his eyes wide. Reny smirked at his astonishment, the corners of her grille pulled up in loathing for the green car.

Chick snarled and backed away, turning around and shooting off in a cloud of sparks and break dust.

Junior rolled up to Reny's right, the purr of his engine a whisper after her tumult of sound. For a moment they sat in companionable silence, gratitude pouring from Junior in waves as he glanced at Reny from the corner of his eye; the silver Mustang was staring at the spot Chick had recently vacated, her hazel-green eyes clouded over.

"Reny?"

"Hmmmm?" she replied, her eyes rolling to Junior.

"You sure that's not a Shelby engine under that hood of yours?"

Reny blinked sadly, her chassis singing lower to the pavement. "The engine may be there, I don't know; but what about the body?"

Looking at her small, battered frame, Lightning couldn't help agreeing with her, no matter how much his mind wanted to deny it was true.

* * *

After saying goodbye to RPM, Leakless, and Junior, Reny followed Mack on the long journey to Radiator Springs. There had been enough room in Lightning's trailer for the two cars (due in part to Reny's small size, although Lightning was smart enough not to point that out), but Reny said she'd drive, in order to work the kinks out of her axels. So they started off, the hubbub of post weekend activity fading away behind them.

Late afternoon had arrived by the time the two cars made it to the booming little town. Lightning arrived first, sliding down the ramp with his customary greeting of, "Ka-Chow!" Sally, her blue paint gleaming in the late afternoon sun, slipped to Lightning's side in order to nuzzle his fender. "How did it go?" she murmured softly. Lightning's eyes grew soft, and he nudged her fender gently. "Oh, very well, very well: In fact, there's someone I'd like you to meet!"

Sally glanced at him playfully; she seemed genuinely curious. "Oh, really: Who?"

VVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!

Reny shot past the greeting party in a blaze of gleaming silver, her engine snarling stridently as she carried on down the road.

"Ah," chuckled Lightning, nervously. "I'll be right back…" Tires squealing, Lightning shot off in pursuit of the runaway Mustang.

It took several minutes for Lightning to catch up to Reny, whose engine was screaming with the effort of going 163 miles per hour. When he managed to pull up beside her, he had to shout in order to be heard over the deafening sound of twin engines at top speed.

"Reny!" he shouted his motor burning with the effort of shouting and driving at the same time. "Where are you going?!"

"Ah," gasped Reny, her hazel-green eyes wide with shock. "I can't stop! I think my brakes are shot!"

"Hang on!" Lightning yelled. Slipping to his right, Lightning shoved Reny lightly until her tires hit the gravel just off the side of the road. Having slowed down enough to turn around, Reny followed Lightning back to the small gathering of cars in front of Flo's.

Mater had only just shown up, and it was he who first noticed the battered young Mustang driving behind Lightning. "Well hi, Lightnin'! Who's yer purty new friend?"

Lightning chuckled. "Hey, Mater. This is Reny."

Mater was thrilled. "Well hullo thur, Ren-y!" the rust tow truck beamed. "Name's Mater: Yuh know, like 'tuh-mater', but without the 'tuh'!"

Reny giggled. "It's nice to meet you, Mater. It's nice to meet everyone!" She glanced down, suddenly shy, her right tire twisting in the dust.

Doc chuckled, softly. "That was quite some show you put on there, kid." Reny blinked, muttering something about "brake problems." Doc laughed. "Come in tomorrow, and I'll fix 'em for you."

Flo shoved her way to the front of the queue, her eyes flicking over Reny's battered frame. "Honey, when was the last time you had something to drink?"

Reny sunk down closer to the pavement. "A while." She murmured, softly.

One hour later, the town's main populace was crammed around Reny; their eyes were wide with shock, as Reny finished her fifth can of oil. Looking up from the pavement, the silver Mustang was bemused by their awed expressions. "What?" she asked, her brow twisting. "It's been a while."

Sally rolled forward, her green eyes soft. "Why don't you take cone number 4? It's yours as long as you stay here." She bumped Reny lightly with her fender. "Go on; it's ten-o'clock."

Reny blinked gratefully, her grille split by a huge yawn. Her engine purring softly, she rolled out of Flo's, her tail lights' gleaming as she rolled down the street.

The sound of Reny's engine died away, leaving a peaceful silence in her wake. Sally slipped closer to Lightning, whose eyes were fixed down the road where Reny had disappeared; she touched his fender lightly with her own.

"So, where'd you find her?"

Lightning glanced down at Sally, who seemed genuinely curious. "At the track." He murmured, quietly. "She'd been living there for a while."

Flo broke in. "Well, where'd she come from?"

Lightning sighed. "She ran away."

"Ran away!" gasped Sally. "Why?"

"She wasn't happy there!" Lightning gasped desperately. "She's been planning to run away since she was eleven!"

"Eleven?" Flo asked.

Sally narrowed her eyes. "So that makes her…"

"15."

"She sure don't look 15!" Flo muttered. "She's too small!"

"Yah, well, I believe her." murmured Lightning, softly.

"We'll see in the morning, when she gets cleaned up." soothed Sally. "It's hard to tell anything through those dents and all that grime."

Sally and Flo slipped away, leaving Lightning to stare broodingly at the road. The light from the neon sign above shone down on him, throwing his racing paint into odd releif as he narrowed his blue eyes is defiance. "It doesn't matter that she's small." Lightning whispered to himself. "I believe her."

* * *

The Proper Pronunciation of

_**Reny.**_ Ren-e

**Notes:** Ha-ha, first thing's first. I will not be updating as soon as I did with this chapter. Why? Well, for one thing, next week is going to be _really_ busy for me. Two, when I wrote this chapter, I already knew what was going to happen; the scene with Chick was one of the first things I thought of in this fic. All I know for chapter three is that Reny gets her brakes fixed, and her paint re-done. ;)

One more thing; before all you Chick fans decide to hunt me down with pitchforks, keep in mind that this is a fan-fic. I have nothing against Chick. It just so happened that he was having a bad day. ')


	3. Paint, Parts, and Tuners

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_** The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars**_** belongs to Pixar; not me!**

* * *

Brrriiinnnnggg!

Lightning blinked himself slowly awake, reached over, and hit the "Off" button on the alarm clock. Yawning loudly, the red racecar glanced out his window, toward cone number four; the windows were dark. Either Reny was still ensconced in dreams, or she was already up and going.

The early morning rush was just dissipating when Lightning pulled up to Flo's V8 Café. Sally was already there, sipping her oil tranquilly. Seeing Lightning, the pale blue Porsche paused her sipping long enough to offer up a query.

"Reny still asleep?"

Lightning blinked. "She's not here?"

Sally returned his blink. "Did you expect her to be here?" She nuzzled his bumper gently. "It's been a long journey for her, and having her brakes fail probably didn't help. Relax, Stickers; she's fine!"

As if to prove the Porsche right, the rumbling of a familiar engine caught Lightning's attention. The battered Mustang slid to a stop beside him, her hazel-green eyes slightly unfocused. "Morning, Lightning." she muttered, blinking hazily. "Morning, Sally." She sipped quietly at the fuel Flo had brought her.

The screech of a police siren shattered the peaceful silence that had settled around the little town. Siren wailing, Sheriff shot down the road as he followed what appeared to be four tricked-out cars.

"Huh." muttered Lightning, turning to follow the irate cruiser. Reny followed behind at a slower speed, her drowsiness seemingly forgotten.

The two cars caught up with Sheriff at the impound lot as he was securing the heavy lock to the gate. Behind their prison of chain link fencing sat four grumbling tuners, each one flaunting an ugly parking boot.

"Hey, what's going on, Sheriff?" Lightning asked, sliding up beside the black-and-white cruiser. Sheriff, who was breathing rather heavily from the chase, managed to growl out a reply.

"These Delinquent Road Hazards were speeding, again!" The two-tone patrol car huffed into his metal moustache. "You'd think that the time they spent with Bessie would have cured them of such breeches of law! And yet, here they are, causing strife for our little town as always." He glared at the four seized cars. "I think they need stronger medicine this time."

Lightning narrowed his windshield thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could split them up: You know, work without the company of each other." A slow smile spread over his grille. "In fact, I know there are some members of this town who would be happy to have them for work. Might shape 'em up a bit."

Now it was Sheriff's turn to look thoughtful. "You know, hot-rod, you just might be right. The town needs a bit of patching up." The black-and-white car spun away from the impound. "I'll ask around, see who's available for a couple weeks." He called back as he drove away. "In the meantime, it won't hurt to leave them in the impound for a few days."

Meanwhile, from inside the impound, Snot Rod caught sight of somebody lurking behind the red racecar. Shifting a smidge to the right, the Barracuda found himself nearly fender-to-fender with a seemingly familiar silver Mustang. The silver car backed away, studying him through curiously narrowed eyes; her grille flickered suddenly into recognition.

"Oh, hello." she chirped brightly. Snot Rod nodded, appraising her skeptically; why did he recognize her? Glancing up, Snot Rod was shocked to find himself staring into familiar hazel-green eyes. He immediately dropped his own eyes to the dirt, his orange paint turning a darker shade.

Lightning had seen the whole exchange with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

"You know him?"

The Mustang rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Really, Lightning, how many times have you asked something like that?" She glanced at Snot Rod, her expression blank. "We've met."

It all came rushing back to him now, in a torrent of flashing images and sounds. He knew now why he remembered her, though it made him more unhappy then he had been before.

_It was a Friday, Snot Rod recalled. The DRH had been out cruising, the orange tuner's persistent sneezing clearing the roads of fellow cars. Wingo had been showing off, as usual, weaving in and out of the lanes and cackling like he owned the place. DJ's sub-woofer was pumping nothing but bass, and Boost just cruised ahead of the others, looking bored. A typical Friday night for the tuner gang usually consisted of running one or two cars off the road, but for some odd reason (or perhaps just Snot Rod's allergies) there wasn't a car in sight. _

_Things had gone the same way for about five more miles, before Boost caught sight of twin taillights just ahead. Wingo grinned and nudged DJ, who winked at Boost. Fading the bass until it became merely background noise, DJ accelerated, slipping behind the car while Wingo took the front. Boost slid up to do the honors, his grey eyes glinting as he dived sideways at the car. In the glow of DJs' headlights, Snot Rod caught a flash of silver, and a circular badge on the car's rear; Mustang. With a grin, the orange Barracuda spend up, driving just behind DJ in order to get a closer view to the action._

_It wasn't much. No matter how the three tuners circled, they couldn't get the 'Stang to budge an inch off the road. Snot Rod had to admit it; this car was quick. Its engine snarling fiercely, the Mustang dodged back and forth, weaving between the tuners with almost as much precision as Wingo. A few snarled curses clued in Snot Rod further; 'it' had now become 'she'. Which really didn't make much difference to him, or the other tuners; gender did not exempt you from the wrath of the DRH._

_In a last ditch attempt to run the 'Stang off the road, Boost crowded her right side, Wingo and DJ blocking her in front and behind: Snot Rod was, of coarse, left out to trail behind the four cars, as his sneezing left little room for anything else. With a snicker of pleasure, the Eclipse rammed his neon-illuminated side into the Mustang. A horrible grinding noise ensued, as metal crushed against metal, while the Mustang's silver paint flaked away, exposing the naked metal beneath._

_That did it! The Mustang had tolerated their attempts to run her off long enough, and Boost's blatant physical attempt was the last straw. With a snarl that had nothing to do with her engine, the silver cars twisted her tires sharply to the right, her bent up body clanging against the tuner leader's left side. Surprised by the sudden assault, the purple Eclipse spun across the (mercifully empty) road; his back tires coming to rest on the strip of gravel that lined the roadside. With a squeal of rubber against asphalt, the silver 'Stang spun around, stopping so suddenly that DJ was forced to check his bulky body sharply to the right. With teeth bared, the silver car turned to face Boost, her eyes-Snot Rod couldn't see what color they were- narrowed in dislike. _

_Boost returned her glare with one of his own, his teeth grating together in fury. "What'd you do that for, huh?" he snarled, his tires twisting in hatred. The look he gave her was powerful enough that Snot Rod sunk down on his tires in fear; no way in the world he could ever stand up to something like that. _

_The Mustang did not flinch away from the tuner leader's poisonous rant. Her eyes glinted still brighter in anger, and her voice, though low, still carried a hint of a snarl. _

"_I could ask the same of you, dim wit! Why'd you try to run me off the road? Is that your sick idea of fun?" Her eyes weren't just smoldering now; they were blazing. Snot Rod shrunk lower to the asphalt, his undercarriage brushing the dusty road. _

_Boost rolled closer, his sneer made all the more threatening by the neon that glowed from his undercarriage. "No, little pipsqueak, it isn't; it's my little idea of a good time." _

_The Mustang's lip curled. "Well, your idea of a good time sucks." she muttered, her tires twisting on the dusty road._

_The dust tickling his undercarriage and the dust the Mustang had sent flying through the air was too much; Snot Rod sneezed, flames flaring from his tail pipes. _

_Distracted from her tirade by the sneeze, the Mustang turned her attentions to the sniffling hotrod. The orange Barracuda glanced up fearfully, only to see the silver car appraising him curiously. Her seemingly colorless eyes seemed far from anger, and the words she spoke next caused the second sneeze to die in the tuner's engine._

"_You know, if you remove those ridiculous rear slicks, and get your butt out of the air, you might not sneeze so much."_

_Snot Rod blinked. His insides seemed to wither up and die, and his tongue curled back on itself. With a small cough, the orange muscle car recovered just enough to speak in a stuttering, raspy voice. "H-How d-did you know I s-sneeze a lot?"_

_DJ sneered at his gang member's obvious terror and Boost rolled his eyes. The Mustang only blinked; the expression on her grille wasn't as fierce as before, but after all, she had taken on Boost. He admired her bravery, but at the same time that bravery frightened him; if she could take on Boost, and live to tell the tale, what could she do to him? __**'**_Stupid.'_ he thought. _'You're in charge of security, and you're scared of a little Mustang who's too big for her chassis.'

_The tuners' engine nearly escaped from beneath his hood when the Mustang suddenly provided the answer to his question. "I could hear you sneezing away back there," She gestured back where they had come with her tire. "While I was being pursued." The little car shot a nasty glance at the three tuners sneering from the sidelines. _

_Snot Rod blushed, his orange turning still darker as he muttered a small, inaudible "Oh." He was well aware of his sneezing problem; it was the reason Boost had put him in charge of crowd control. It did get a little old, though, and when he was in close proximity to the other tuners, they grew tired of it, too. Their sentence in the impound lot had been particularly painful because of it; apparently, it was the reason the other tuners shot him such looks. He knew they'd get over it eventually, but that piece of knowledge didn't prevent him from feeling out of sorts with the whole planet. _

_Taking advantage of her distraction, Boost shot towards her vulnerable left side. Notified by the snarl of an Eclipse engine, the silver car darted aside with a small intake of breath. As Boost whirled to face her once more, the glow from his headlights caught the silver cars' eyes. Snot Rod gasped: The Mustangs' eyes were a compelling shade of green-hazel, dark around the rims, with a hint of pale brown around the pupil. They disappeared as Boost dived at her once more, the sound of her engine dying away as she shot off down the road. Boost was left flat-wheeled in the dust, panting from exertion. With a glance in Snot Rods' direction, the tuner leader and his gang rolled back down the road they'd just come up. _

Snot Rod blinked dismally: He was not at all happy to see this car. And when she glanced at him with a smirk painted on her grille, he was certain it could only mean trouble.

* * *

Over then next four days, Lightning came to know more about the rag-tag little car. Reny wasn't one for mornings, although she couldn't bear to get up later then 9:00 A.M. She could be quiet, introspective, and sometimes almost painfully shy around new cars; on the other tire, she could be bold, fierce, and fiery when she was sure of herself. She enjoyed reading, and flaunted her knowledge of complex words whenever Lightning was within hearing (only for the simple pleasures of seeing his grille pull up in confusion). It seemed like several little cars had arrived in Radiator Springs, rather then jut one.

The morning after the capture of the DRH, Lightning noticed Reny driving cautiously down the street; he had heard that new brakes took some getting used to, and Reny was proving to be no exception. The silver car gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she attempted to drive down the street in a controlled manner. By the time she reached the red racecar, she was exhausted from her efforts.

After her new brakes had healed in a few days later, Reny slipped off to Ramone's for her new paint job. Her dents had been taken care of a few hours earlier, and although she hadn't let anyone know, Lightning had a good idea where she'd be. By the time 6:00 rolled around the whole town was gathered in front of the body shop.

Ramone exited with the grave air of one who had just attended a funeral for a dear friend. In a deep, unnatural voice, the low-riding Impala solemnly said, "Presenting my latest masterpiece."

With the growl from her engine drowning out the excited murmurs from the crowd, Reny made her first un-dented appearance. Her paint was now a deeper shade of silver, and her hood was accented with wide silver stripes. Flo had been right; she did not look the least bit 15. But there was something in her appealing hazel-green eyes that persuaded the red racer of the truth. Reny was simply a bit undersized for the normal Mustang.

Reny blinked, flashing a wide grin when she caught Lightning's' shocked expression.

"Pretty cool, huh?" she shouted exuberantly. "Aren't the stripes sweet?!"

Lightning winked, and returned the silver cars' grin. Reny twisted her tires happily, dust and gravel flying as she turned a few joyous donuts the paint shops' parking lot.

* * *

**The Proper Pronunciation of **_**Reny.**_ Ren-e

**Notes:** Wow, sorry it took me so long to update this; I had a few things that needed switched around. Some things were intended for Chapter Four, but I have a difforent plan for that one.

No, Snot Rod is not crushing on Reny. He's scared of her really, which is saying somthing since he's about twice her size; he's also not that wimpy, if you read the bio on the Blu-Ray disk.

No, Reny is not crushing on Snot Rod; she'd just odd-friendly like that.


	4. Thorns!

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_**The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars **_**belongs to Pixar; not me!**

"Turn that disrespectful junk off!"

"Respect the classics, man: It's Hendrix!"

Lightning slipped down to the impound early Saturday morning; he wanted to check on the DRH before he headed off to his final training session with Doc. They would be off to Columbia Motor Speedway tomorrow in order to make the final preparations for next Sunday's Gask-its 400, and it would be a while before he could see the sleepy little town again. He had spent most of the week alternating between training sessions with Doc, and spending time with Sally and Reny. Since the grand re-opening of the Wheel Well and running the Cozy Cone, the pale blue Porsche hadn't had much time to spend with the race car she loved. Reny had managed to shoo her away from the cone Friday so that Lightning could take her for a drive; it was her way of saying thanks for the kindness Sally had shone her. Lightning sighed dismally; he loved racing, but he loved Sally so much more. Life was hard.

The sight of a familiar black-and-white patrol car snapped Lightning out of his dismal thoughts. Sheriff was sitting just before the impound gate, his grille set in a grim line. On the other side of the chain-link sat the DRH, their expressions equally grim. One of them, the orange Barracuda, let out a breathy sneeze; the other three tuners winced away from the resulting flames that billowed from his tail pipes.  
Lightning parked beside the irate patrol car, his racing engine loud in the heavy silence morning brings. "Hey, Sheriff?" he murmured quietly. "Checking in on the convicts, are you?"  
Sheriff turned to face the red racer, his hood narrowing in acknowledgement. "Maybe." His grille deepened into a frown. "Actually, it's more then that, hot rod. I can only find enough cars for three of 'em. You're leaving tomorrow, and taking Doc and Guido with you: That leaves Ramone, Mater, and Sarge to watch over these delinquents.  
Lightning blinked. "What about Fillmore? And Luigi? And Flo?"  
Sheriff growled. "That hippie? I wouldn't let him near one of these with a ten foot gas-can! Luigi has enough trouble without Guido as it is, and Flo has enough to do without one of these imports running amok!" He shook his hood. "I don't know what to do with the fourth one. We may not be able to split them up after-all."

Reny had, of coarse, followed Lightning all the way to the impound. It had become a habit of hers, something she had explained to the red race car one stormy day at Flo's. "I'm a rookie here," she'd said, slipping into racing slang. "And you're the only car I really know. I _like_to know things; it makes me feel..." She'd sipped her oil, her eyes glazing over as she searched for the perfect word. "It makes me feel secure. Safe. Like nothing can get to me." Lightning knew her just well enough to know that she wasn't talking about fear; she was talking about her inner security, her sanity. According to her, she was always on the brink of falling over the edge of insanity: According to Lightning, her so called "insanity" was just adolescence getting in the way.  
So she'd followed him, just like every other morning when he wasn't training for spending time with Sally. And, having been just behind him, she'd heard every word the distraught patrol car said. Her engine growling softly, she pulled up beside Sheriff, her grille set in a determined line.  
"I'll take one."  
"Hmmmmm?" muttered Sheriff, who was only half listening.  
"I'll take one." Reny murmured. She flicked her tires in the direction of the impound. "One of those punks."  
Sheriff stared at the little Mustang, his moustache twitching. "You're not serious, are you?" he chuckled.  
Reny narrowed her eyes, the frown she wore deepening. "But I am, Sheriff. I'm dead serious."  
Sheriff glowered. "Missy, these are Delinquent Road Hazards we're dealing with here." The black-and-white patrol car blinked, his voice softening. "This is not a job for kids."  
Reny bristled, her hazel-green eyes flashing. "I can handle it, ok? It's not like I'm going to meekly stand by when they try to cause trouble!" She jerked a tire toward Boost. "I've already tangled with him once."  
Sheriff glared at her cooly. "I don't suppose he's the reason you came in with so many dents we couldn't tell your front from your back?"  
Reny shook her hood. "Nah. That stuff happened after. I just got a scratch." She grinned in the direction of the purple tuner. "The one I gave him was _much_ more impressive!" The little Mustang narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "He's probably had it painted over, though."  
Sheriff rolled his tires over the gritty earth. "Really?" he muttered sceptically. Reny glared at the patrol car in exasperation.  
Lightning rolled forward, his grille pulled into a half smile. "Come on Sheriff, let her have a go." He nudged the older car's bumper playfully. "The day she lets anyone get away with anything will be the day _I_ lose a race to Chick!"  
Sheriff glanced stiffly at the red race car, his grille pulled into a sneer. "_Very_ convincing, hot-rod. I feel better already." His voice returned to its' usual gruff tone. "Fine, hot-rod; you win." He blinked. "But I'm not letting her anywhere _near_ those imports; it'll be the Barracuda, or nothing."  
Lightning said nothing. Reny opened her mouth, then snapped it shut without a word. Sheriff grimaced painfully. "And if something happens," he muttered, glowering at Lightning, "On your hood, be it." Reversing noisily, Sheriff shot off towards Doc's, a cloud of gravel and dust flying from behind him.  
Lightning drew closer to Reny. "Just a scratch, eh?" he teased, prodding her with one tire. Reny rolled her eyes and ducked away. "Ok, I got a few dents! Sheriff would never let me help if I told him _everything" _She sighed. "Besides, they were small dents: Nothing worth griping about." The silver Mustang grinned at the red race car. "Anyways, the damage I did to him _was _much more impressive."

* * *

Snot Rod stared gloomily through the chain link as the five car assembled in front of the impound. Sheriff was letting the other three car pick out which Delinquent they wanted to be responsible for.  
"I'll take that flashy purple punk." Sarge growled in his usual surly manner. "See how cocky he feels after a week or two in boot-camp."  
Ramone appraised the other two cars with the eyes of an artist. "I'll take the Silvia, man." he said, rising up on his tires; Sarge muttered, "Show-off." under his breath.  
Sheriff turned to the rusty tow truck. "Looks like your left with boom-box boy, Mater." he muttered gruffly. Mater looked flattered, murmuring, "Awe, shucks." and looking away.  
Sheriff used a tire to press the button that opened the impound gate. With resigned sighs, the DRH filed out as cars came forward to collect them. Snot Rod gloomily hopped his way toward what appeared to be the Mustang from before. Closer inspection proved her to be just that; she had gotten her paint re-done, he noticed. The dents were gone from her frame, and she had added two wide, pale stripes to her dark silver exterior.  
Sheriff sent the other cars off, the three tuners hopping across town rather reluctantly, before rolling over to Snot Rod. "Since your guard has no place of employment," he growled, "You will be assigned to Ada." The orange Barracuda blinked, mystified. "Ada?" he murmured. "Who's Ada?"

Ada, it turned out, was a street cleaner. Snot Rod found himself connected to her using the same device that had been used to hook Lightning to Bessie, while the little silver Mustang sat quietly to the left of the road; beside her sat a mysterious wedge of smooth wood. Deciding that whatever the crazy car did held no bearing whatsoever on the current situation, Snot Rod revved his engine loudly; the butterfly valves on his supercharger fluttered rapidly as his tires skidded over the pavement, hunting for purchase. They found none. His hood furrowed in effort, the tuner tried once more to haul the stubborn machine onward. Still, she would not budge more then a half-inch across the asphalt.  
With a very soft sigh, the silver 'Stang rolled behind the cleaning machine, her engine purring softly. Snot Rod felt the machine shift as the little car's tires spun in sync with his own. Slowly, painfully, Ada began to move forward with a _sloosh_ of soapy water.  
Snot Rod gritted his teeth. "I can pull it myself." he muttered under his breath. The silver car said nothing, but simply returned to her post beside the road.  
The street cleaner was heavy, and Snot Rod had allot of trouble pulling her along; his engine was burning, and his axles ached stridently from effort. Unlike Bessie, whom the four tuners had pulled before, Ada did not spit liquid tar in all directions; she did, however, spit water. The road became slipperier as time went on, and the orange tuners' tires slipped over the asphalt as if the road were crafted of glass.

About noon, Snot Rod was still toiling away with Ada, when he felt a sharp pain in his right rear slick. A flash of silver caught his eye as the Mustang darted across the road in front of him. Before his tire had completely deflated, he found himself held level by the wedge of wood he had spotted earlier. The orange tuner let out a sigh of relief; no way did he want to scratch off his paint of the pavement!  
The little Mustang was, for some reason he couldn't fathom, staring at his tire intently. A soft "Ah." caught the orange 'Cuda's attention, followed by a gentle tugging on his tire. The next thing he heard was a _whoosh, _as what little air remained left the battered strip of rubber. Snot Rod felt himself teetering precariously, and he shifted his tires to keep himself from tipping over. He could hear the Mustang's tires crunching over the stray gravel as she rolled in-front of him. Balanced delicately on her hood was a long, sharp cactus thorn.  
"You're going to need new tires." she muttered grimly. "The thorn poked right through. I don't think the best tire manufacturer in the _world _could patch a hole like that."  
Snot Rod grimaced. "What are you, an expert on tires?" He rolled his emerald eyes. "Besides," he snapped, gesturing toward the thorn. "How many of those things can there be?"  
The Mustang glared right back, her grilled curling up in contempt. "For your information, _Buster, _this happens to be a desert. And, being a desert, there are all different varieties of cacti. Cacti have these little pointy things called _thorns, _which happen to be very prominent on this stretch of asphalt." Her teeth snapped together loudly, her hazel-green eyes flashing. For a moment, the orange muscle car felt a twinge of the fear he had battled the first time she'd confronted him. He tried to back away, only to be impeded by both Ada and the bulky wooden wedge.  
The little Mustang blinked. "It's those silly slicks that cause the problem; they're meant for racing, not hauling. The thorns poke right through that thin rubber. That's the reason I brought the wedge."  
Snot Rod grimaced. "I'm sticking with these tires, thanks."  
The Mustang sighed is exasperation. "Would you at least _like_ a new tire? You have no traction as it is, and pulling with a flat will just make it harder."  
With a resigned sigh, the orange Barracuda nodded his assent, thinking, _'At least it will get her to shut-up.' _He wasn't sure the rinky-dink little tire shop here even carried cheater slicks, but it was better then just spinning his tires all day.  
As it turned out, Cassa Della Tires _did _carry cheater slicks. The little yellow Fiat rolled down the road, followed by a little yellow forklift bearing the large, slippery tire. Since Guido spent most of the summer accompanying Lightning to his races, Luigi had been a young forklift named Figaro. Figaro was not as fast a Guido, but Luigi was confident that with time, he would become efficient.  
It was Figaro who changed Snot Rod's tires as the yellow Fiat tipped his sales pitch to uninterested ears.  
"If'an you buy-a two, Luigi give you three snow tires, free-a."  
_'What would I do with three snow tires?' _Snot Rod mused. Even in winter, he drove around on his slicks; they could present a problem when he was marooned on a patch of ice, but usually one of his friends could push him free. _'At least, they used to." _the Barracuda thought glumly. Ever since their second stay in the impound, relations between them had become a bit frosty: Wingo did not liked having his spoiler sneezed on.  
"If'an you buy-a three-a, Luigi give you three snow tires, free-a! That iz my final offer."  
The silver car touched the Fiat's fender gently. "It's ok, Luigi. I got this." she murmured politely.  
Luigi beamed at her. "Ah, yes; four black-a walls, six-a off-roading tirez-a. You know-a where to find-a me." Collecting Figaro, the yellow Fiat trundled back down the road to his shop.  
Snot Rod raised his windshield: Off-roading tires? Deciding that what the little car did in her spare time was not of any importance, he twisted around to examine his new tire. The sun glinted off it's ebony surface, casting a dark glow on the grey-ish pavement below.  
The clank of metal distracted him from his tire. The silver car had plonked down a can of oil from Flo's near his fender; she sat once more to the side of the road, quietly sipping her own oil.  
Snot Rod felt a sudden surge of anger overtake him. He had let _her _scare him, push him around like a kid; but she was nothing, nothing compared to him. He was bigger, faster, and probably at least five years older then she was. He felt his hood grow hot with shame, then rage. His tire snapped angrily against the ground; he glared at the Mustang, queries burning on the tip of his tongue.  
"How old are you, anyway?" he snapped, loosing all restraint. "12?" The Mustang glanced up, her eyes steely. "No. 15." she said. Snot Rod sensed the light snap her reply carried, and it puzzled him out of his anger. Why hadn't she sent him a smart-aleky reply? He glanced at her again; her windsheild drooped, and her eyes seemed slightly crossed. He blinked in puzzlement, before a bolt of inspiration hit him: She was tired. Between arguing with him, speeding over when his tire went flat, and fetching Luigi, she had tired herself out. A small pang of pity pierced through him, intesifying when he realized he did not know here name.  
"Hey," he called softly. The little car's eyes shot open, and she looked puzzled at his civil tone. "Yah." she muttered, her grilled furrowed in suspicion.  
"What's your name?" he asked gently; for some odd reason, he didn't want to scare her.  
She blinked, her eyes narrowing. "Reny." she muttered, staring at him. "Just call me Reny."

* * *

**Notes: **No, Snot Rod and Reny are not crushing on each other; Snot Rod is just EXTREAMLY tired, which makes him polite (it also keeps him from thingking strait; Reny doesn't need protecting, and he knows that well enough).  
Sorry it's not too good; it's hard to write somthing when cars don't know each others names yet. On the plus side, this is the longest chapter yet. Yay!  
Today's my b-day. Reviews make wonderful gifts!  
**Edit:** Fixed a few mistakes I had before. Tis better now, I think!


	5. Entertainment

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Cars, _nor do I own any of the characters associated with _Cars._The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. _Cars _belongs to Pixar; not me!

* * *

**It took a week to clean all the asphalt that made up the main road. In all that time, Snot Rod learned more about the small silver-grey Mustang then he thought he'd ever want to know. True, he had asked her; he just wasn't expecting her to be so compliant.  
Reny had been right about the thorns: Snot Rod could go no more then a few yards before one tire or another was punctured by a thorn. By Wednesday, Luigi had run out of cheater slicks, compromising instead by fitting the Barracuda with large, treaded tires. They were perhaps not as stylish as the slicks had been, but the traction they provided was considerably better.  
Reny was always in attendance, of coarse, though she wasn't quite as snappish as she had been that first day. She seemed to slide in the opposite direction, saying less then usual when Snot Rod complained about the thorns. Lightning's absence had taken it out of her, though the orange tuner couldn't figure out why; as far as he could tell, they weren't related. Sometimes, after he had been locked away for the day, he would catch her wandering down the road with a lost expression on her grille. Her depression clouded his hood like a fog, choking every slightly optimistic thought that crossed his mind as soon as it took shape. Apparently, Reny was contagious.

To block these depressing thoughts, the orange Barracuda took to interogating the little Mustang. At first, his questions were asked with little intrest. Where had she come from? Why was she _here_of all places? Her story about meeting Lightning at the racetrack brought on a new onslaught of questions. She liked racing? Like was not a strong enough word for her passion. Had she ever seen a drag race? Not really, but she thought she might have the basic idea. By the time Luigi ran out of cheater slicks, Reny had run out of depression to spread around, and Snot Rod had stopped complaining.  
Once, Snot Rod asked Reny what the other tuners were doing. He had been particularly hot, tired, and sore that day, and he was sure that the other tuners were having a much easyer time of it.  
"Well," Reny had murmured thoughtfully, "I know Sarge is running your purple friend through boot-camp." She winced. "Which can't be much fun. Ramone is testing out new paint schemes on your friend with the ladder on his butt,"  
Snot Rod grimaced: He knew as well as anyone that Wingo did not like anyone messing with his paint.  
"And your boom-box dude is either being shown a long and enthusiastic tour of the town, or Mater is using him for towing practice." They both winced. "Personally, I think you've gotten off pretty easy." The silver-grey car blinked, her voice a low murmur that could only just be caught. "You might not feel the same though."  
After that, Snot Rod kept his mouth shut. He was not sure he wanted to know anything else.

* * *

It was Boost's fault.  
The purple tuner had managed to oil-slick the road leading up to the impound, much to Sheriff's displeasure: His tires had become so slicked up that it took about ten direct applications of water from Red's hose to give him even a little traction. Mater had fetched Boost a can of oil the night before, thinking that he was going to drink it.  
This seemed like an easy enough mistake to make, so Mater was not blamed for the catastrophe. It meant, however, that the DRH would be staying in Radiator Springs for a while longer while Sarge booted Boost around his boot-camp.  
So it was Boost's fault that Snot Rod, Wingo, and DJ spent their Saturday following Reny around like bits of metal after a magnet. Mater was needed to help clean up the oil, and Ramone had shown mercy and released Wingo from 3D paint tablet. Snot Rod's stint with Ada was complete, so he joined the other three tuners just outside of town to await Reny's arrival.  
Wingo scowled in tune to DJ's resigned sigh when Reny rolled up to collect them. Snot Rod, as usually, remained silent: Honestly he really didn't mind Reny much, since he was mostly quiet when content. While the other two tuners fretted about being stuck with a _girl, _the orange Barracuda stared into the distance, lost in thought.  
These thoughts were interrupted by the low growl of a familiar engine. Reny rolled up, cool and nonchalant as she always seemed to be on the outside. The inside, however, was a different story. Snot Rod knew her just well enough to notice the nervous way her tires twitched, and how her eyes were just a little too wide to be totally at ease.  
Reny's tire twisted again, her grille turned down in a considering frown.  
"I'm not sure what you guys like to do, other then chasing cars off the road. Sooo..." She shrugged. "It's up to you. Please keep in mind that I _do _have veto power, so please try not to run me over if I reject your idea."  
Snot Rod was not sure they were really listening; Wingo had tipped himself to one side, his windshield furrowed in confusion. DJ just stared, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. Snot Rod smirked; they knew that voice from _somewhere, _but they just couldn't place it. The orange 'Cuda was not even sure they remembered that particular Friday night. On the other tire, no one had ever dared to talk back to Boost before, at least not that anyone could remember. DJ and Wingo had been more or less skulking in the background, and hadn't gotten a good view. Thus, they recognized the voice, just not the chassis speaking with it.  
Reny finally felt their curious stares burning through her paint. "What?!" she asked, tipping her hood to one side. Their constant attention was making her uncomfortable; Snot Rod could see her shifting the dirt beneath her tires into a hurricane of dust. He held his breath, hoping he wouldn't sneeze on Wingo's recently re-done paint job.  
DJ was the first to snap out of his trance to consider her proposition. His purple-grey eyes scanned the surounding terrain, lighting up when they caught sight of a large boulder resting on the edge of a cliff.  
"Hey!" he shouted, causing Reny to flinch. "Could we roll those off cliffs and see what we can smash?"  
Reny shook her hood to gather herself, blinking thoughtfully at his request. "Sure, so long as we go a looonnnggg way from town." She grinned. "Mater _might_ have some spare stuff we can smash."  
DJ winced, and Reny grinned. "Ok, ok. I have some spare metal hidden away we can use."

An hour later, the four cars reached the top of a large, flat-topped rock formation. Over time, the wind and the rain had eroded enough of the gritty stone to leave several boulders of varying sizes resting in pools of dust at the summit. Reny had arranged the bits of junk far below, in easy access of one of the falling projectiles. Wingo glanced grimly at one of the dusty stones, edging away and muttering disjointed excuses like, "Paint... Spoiler." Reny just rolled her eyes, but even DJ began to look apprehensive about his idea.  
With a sigh, the little car rolled up to one of the smaller boulders, settling her fender against it. Engine revving, Reny hefted the boulder across the dusty surface, and over the edge of the cliff. There was a tense silence, before the crunch of crushed metal could be heard from below. Twisting around in the dust, Reny flipped around and raised one corner of her windshield.  
DJ seemed to get into the act, shoving the next boulder over the edge with abnormal enthusiasm; Snot Rod managed to send one rock hurtling towards the ground, though the great amounts of dust made it difficult for him to get very far without sneezing and shooting forward. Soon, the boulders became so big that it took visible effort to move the boulders even half-way over the terrain. Between Reny and DJ competing for who could roll off the largest boulder, and Snot Rod's sneezing, Wingo became a mere item to be ignored.  
Reny a Snot Rod were laughing, watching DJ attempt to heave a boulder nearly twice his size over the edge. Tears blurred Reny's vision as her chassis quivered in an attempt to suppress her hysteria, and Snot Rod was laughing too hard to sneeze. DJ muttered under his breath, grunting as he attempted to push the great lump one inch closer to the edge. He paused, sending an exasperated glance over to the orange tuner, but Snot Rod was impeded by his laughter.  
At high-pitched cackled joined in, and Reny chocked in surprise. Snot Rod thumped her on the hood, his chassis heaving as he fought for breath. All eyes fell upon the green-and-purple tuner, who was shaking hard enough to through up a small cloud of red dust in the direction of the Barracuda. Snot Rod sneezed, shooting closer to Reny... Or where Reny had been. Her treads criss-crossed the dust, leading over to where DJ's boulder sat, abandoned. The little Mustang had her grilled pressed against the rock, her engine revving stridently as her tires spun against the dust. Spouts of dust shot from behind her as she worked against the heavy stone, her teeth gritted together in concentration.  
The three tuners watched in amazement as the silver car pressed every ounce of strength against the boulder; her momentum grew as she scooted it over the flat surface.  
"Wow." Wingo muttered under his breath, "She must have been working out."  
Snot Rod let his mind wander back to Ada, the mention of of-roading tires, and Sarge. She must have been bulking up at boot-camp, for some reason the orange 'Cuda couldn't fathom. She didn't need strong axels to prove she was tough; she had a tongue for that.  
With a final grunt of effort, and a deffening rev of her engine, Reny sent the boulder over the edge of the cliff; it hurtled downward, landing with a resounding _crash_ on the last twisted piece of blue metal below.  
The little Mustang turned, panting from exertion: Her tongue hung almost to the dust, and her chassis heaved, but her hazel-green eyes were bright with pride. "I... Believe..." she gasped, a great gasp of air ruffling the dust below her grille, "That...I...Have...Won."

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Notes: Sorry this chapter isn't very good at all. This is more of a filler, even though I attempted not to make it so. I'm preparing for Chapter Six, which I hope will be much more exciting then this drival.


	6. What Do You Call A Friend?

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_**The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars **_**belongs to Pixar; not me! I make zero profit from this fic!**

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Snot Rod sat quietly outside Flo's, sipping the can of oil she'd brought him. Wingo and DJ were parked on either side of the Barracuda, arguing quietly over his hood about which music to play. Snot Rod hunched down closer to the asphalt, his cab bombarded with a barrage of noise from either side. _At least Reny is quiet._ he thought, wincing as the argument grew louder. His emerald green eyes searched the street for some sign of the small silver Mustang.  
The four cars had spent yesterday shoving more rocks off the sandy crimson cliff, though Reny was still too sore from the previous day's competition to compete well. The little car hadn't complained much, but Snot Rod had noticed the stiffness in in her axles, and the way she winced her way over even the smallest of pebbles. They'd stopped their antics near noon-time, traveling back to the little town in order to watch Lightning race from the cozy view of the little television. Lightning had won, and the whole Radiator Springs populace had partied well into the night. Boost hadn't joined the festivities, having been secured in the impound hours before, but Reny had been extra sure to bring him some food. The Barracuda had observed her trying to quietly reconcile herself to the purple tuner, but Boost had ignored her every attempt. Wingo and DJ had softened up enough towards the little Mustang to slap her high-fives after the race, and Snot Rod... Well, Snot Rod considered her a friend. Only Boost remained immune to her quiet, shy charm: There hadn't been enough light to see really well, but Snot Rod had the distinct impression that Boost had been scowling at the little car in a way that vowed revenge. This hadn't worried the orange Barracuda too much; he knew all too well that Reny could handle herself around the bigger tuner. Still, he wanted to keep an eye on her, just in case Boost didn't play fair. Boost, being Boost, seldom played fair, even during the best of times; the confrontation between the Mustang and the Eclipse had, most definitely, not been the best of times.  
Wingo and DJ were getting louder and still pushier, till the two tuners were nearly at top volume. Wingo had the tip of his hood pressed against Snot Rod's fender, and DJ amplified his point with bursts of tank-churning bass. The orange Barracuda closed his eyes, and wished they would just shut up and go away.  
Light laughter from the region of his left fender caught the 'Cuda's attention. He cracked open his his eyes, finding himself nearly eye-to-eye with a pair of familiar hazel-green orbs.  
Reny had somehow managed to wedge herself between DJ's bass and Snot Rod's fender. Her eyes glittered good-naturedly, and another chuckle pealed from her engine.  
"Having fun?" she muttered, grinning widely. Snot Rod grimaced. "Maybe too much." he growled, glancing at Wingo and frowning.  
The little Mustang narrowed her eyes. "Want some help?" she hissed, flinching as DJ produced another selection of particularly powerful bass.  
Snot Rod glanced once more at Wingo, who was pressed so hard against the Barracuda's fender that his teeth came within centimeters of puncturing the orange tuner's tire.  
"Ah, that would be nice." he murmured, blinking gently.  
Reny giggled again, rolling back about three feet until she faced the three cars. Snot Rod saw her take in a great gulp of air, her chassis swelling with effort, before she let it all loose in a great burst of sound.  
"OY!"  
Wingo shot backwards in surprise, his progress in reverse halted only by a particularly large, prickly bush that grew just a few feet from the cafe' entrance. DJ jumped and spun around, his blue eyes darting wildly. All three tuners stared, wide-eyed, at Reny, who smiled shyly in response.  
"Dude," muttered Wingo, frowning as he attempted to untangle his spoiler from the bush, "Where did that come from?" DJ nodded in agreement, still too shell-shocked to speak.  
Reny glanced down shyly, her tire winding nervous circles in the dust. "I don't know." she murmured, her eyes flickering nervously. "I guess I was born with it."  
Wingo attempted once more to free himself from the clutches of the bush, succeeding only in tangling himself up further. "What was that about, anyway?" he asked irritably as he wrestled with the stubborn plant.  
Reny stared at the dirt and nibbled her lip; she seemed to shrink before Snot Rod's eyes, becoming less like the car he knew, and more like the little kid she sometimes still was. The orange Barracuda shot a glance at Wingo, his eyes flashing warily. Wingo seemed not to notice, as the bush had now wrapped itself between the numerous levels of his spoiler, holding his fast to the earth.  
Reny cleared her throat, and sighed softly before replying to the Silvia's query. "You were making Snot Rod deaf." she murmured. Her eyes, full of worry and confusion, flickered in Snot Rod's direction, before she quickly glanced away again.  
Wingo sighed, his eyes flickering between the orange Barracuda and the silver-grey Mustang. The bush had somehow wound itself around his rear axle, leaving him suspend almost in midair. "Well, next time, warn us, alright?" he panted, limp from exhaustion. His front tires scrabbled at the sandy earth as he tried to separate himself from the prickly prison. "Ah..." he muttered, his tongue peeping from the corner of his mouth. "Help?" He glanced at Reny, his brown eyes wide and innocent.  
Reny laughed, rolling over to where the purple-and-green tuner was balanced. "Alright, alright." she chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Hang on."

About a hour later, Wingo finally managed to roll away without being further ensnared by the bodacious shrub. Despite the general prickliness of the bush, the tuner's paint had not been scratched; Wingo had spent nearly another hour examining himself in Flo's window, just to be completely sure he was still flawless.  
The four cars lounged around and had another can of cold oil, Wingo being too tired from his ordeal to do much else. Reny'd just launched her empty can into the trash barrel, to much applause from the tuners, when the sound of several different engines caught their attention. Glancing down the road, the four young cars noticed seven other cars rolling in their direction. A closer look reveled them to be about Reny's age, and of various models and colors.  
"I don't know about this... Does it have food?" A cheerful-looking silver Neon peered around a large yellow Hummer, his brown eyes bright. The Hummer shrugged, before glancing at the dark blue Cherokee that rolled by his side.  
"Brady, we ate two hours ago." snapped a white Elantra. "You should _not _be hungry!"  
The blue Cherokee wheeled about the face the white car. "Lay off him, Darcy!" she snapped, her blue eyes flashing.  
Snot Rod stopped listening to their bickering long enough to notice that Reny wasn't beside him anymore. The little Mustang had rolled closer to the group of cars, her eyes wide with surprise and... horror? Confused, the orange Barracuda rolled to her side, nudging her side with one tire. "Hey." he muttered, low enough to be missed by the other two tuners. "What's going on?"  
Reny blinked, and turned to look at the orange tuner. "Snot Rod... I know those cars!" she whispered, her tires twitching. "I used to go to school with them!"  
Snot Rod blinked. "So they're your... friends?" The last word trailed off; Reny had rolled away from him, and towards the cars. "Oh, boy." he muttered, rolling after her.  
The little Mustang paused a few feet away from the Cherokee, her tire twisting nervously over the asphalt. Snot Rod saw her swallow, before she rolled just one inch closer. "Hey guys." she murmured timidly; Snot Rod could tell she was working hard to keep her voice from trembling.  
The blue car turned, and stared at the little car for a moment before recognition flickered over her grille.  
"Reny?" she asked? Reny nodded, a small smile creeping over her own grille. "Ah, yah." she gushed, her shy smile breaking into a wide grin. The Cherokee's grille mirrored the Mustangs; a purple Jetta waved enthusiastically, and the Elantra nodded stoically. A high-pitched squeal cut the air, as a pale pink Mustang slammed into Reny's side. Snot Rod stiffened, his breaks locking, but relaxed when he heard Reny speak.  
"Ah... Jessie... You're squishing me."  
The pink car laughed and backed away. Reny rolled forward, her hazel-green eyes flickering to the Hummer, and to the dark red Accord to his left. They both stared back, resembling, Snot Rod thought, two painted statues of stone. He saw Reny's chassis heave with a silent sigh, before she turned her attentions to the silver Neon. "Hey, Brady." She grimaced at him. "Long time, no see."  
"Brady" grinned back, shooting forward to slap her a high-five. "Dude," he shouted, twisting a rather dust-free doughnut. "This is awesome! I havn't seen you in ages!"  
Snot Rod peered at the rather noisy reunion from behind a sparsely leafed bush, the gleam of sunlight off his supercharger catching the attention of the white Elantra.  
"Who's that?" she asked, her grilled maintaining the same expressionless appearance as before.  
Reny glanced back, her hazel-green eyes wide and bright. "Oh, that's Snot Rod." she replied, with a wave in the orange Barracuda's direction. Snot Rod rolled closer, his chassis tipped to one side in order to better consider the diverse group. The pink Mustang giggled, letting out a long chorus of "Oooo..." that was abruptly cut short; the orange car was pretty sure Reny'd whacked her tire hard with one of her own. Betraying no reaction to what had just happened, the silver Mustang proceeded to introduce all seven of the cars to the already confused Barracuda.  
"You've met Darcy," She gestured to the white car.  
"Michelle," The blue Cherokee waved.  
"Katrina," The purple Jetta smiled.  
"Brady," The silver Neon bounced over to the surprised tuner, his laughing grille blocking out any forward vision. "Dude, high-five!" he shouted. Snot Rod complied, still dazed by the sudden onslaught of information.  
"Jessie," The pink Mustang giggled and eyed the orange 'Cuda appraisingly.  
"Rick," A black Ford Ranchero waved, his blue eyes cool.  
"And, " Reny glanced at the Hummer and the Accord, who stared back with the same stony look they had graced her before. "Nash and Alex." She sighed, for some reason Snot Rod couldn't fathom.  
"And this," she said, gesturing to the orange Barracuda, "Is Snot Rod."  
Erring on the side of caution, the muscle car said nothing, opting to wave shyly instead.  
The white Elantra, Darcy, stared at him curiously. "Why's he called that?" she asked, her tire twisting on the asphalt.  
Inhaling the dust the Elantra's tire had dragged up, the orange 'Cuda sneezed, the butterfly valves on his supercharger fluttering as he shot down the road.  
"Allergies." chirped Reny, as casually as if she were pointing out the color of the sky.  
"Oh."

The sky had darkened considerably as evening progressed upon the residents of Radiator Springs. A few couples cruised up and down the asphalt, while a few other cars, Sally included, chose to partake in a cool drink at Flo's. Wingo was busy persuading Mia (or was it Tia?) to cruise with him, and DJ sat quietly in a corner, providing the evening music selections for the group. Reny, however, was nowhere to be seen. She'd spent the remainder of the day with her friends, until just before the sky had begun to dim. A chorus of farewells had ensued, as her friends had headed back to Brady's house. One moment she'd been there, laughing over DJ's impression of Wingo, but the next she had disappeared. Snot Rod had searched for several moments, before digging up the nerve to approach Sally as she sat alone, sipping her drink.  
"Hey, Snot Rod." the blue Porsche chirped, setting aside her drink. "What can I do for you?"  
"Um, well..." the Barracuda muttered, staring at his tires. "Do you know where Reny is?"  
"Hmmm..." Sally tapped a tire against the pavement, her eyes thoughtful. "Havn't seen her tonight, actually. There's this place she likes to go, sometimes. If you drive far enough down the main road, you might be able to see her."  
Snot Rod thanked her quietly and set off, his headlights cutting through the impending darkness with ease. His green eyes searched the surrounding desert carefully, searching for any sign of the silver-grey Mustang; there was nothing.  
Snot Rod was just about to give up when he sighted the gleam of far-away neon against metal high above him. Turning left, the orange Barracuda found himself confronted by a path, roughened and rutted by rain and wind. _Well,_he thought, staring unhappily at the unexpected obstacle before him, _this could be interesting.  
_The path was dusty, and rather narrow, so much so that the 'Cuda nearly choked from his effort to hold in his sneezes; a fall to the bottom was not particularly welcome at this moment. His tires bounced in and out of the ruts, jarring his teeth, and shaking loose a lug-nut or two in the process. As he neared the summit of the cliff, the path became still more harsh and unforgiving, and Snot Rod redoubled his preventative sneezing efforts. Alas, the orange Barracuda wheezed to the top, his eyes prodding the flat landscape for some sign of the Mustang.  
She was there, near the edge of the cliff that jutted out over the rocky earth below. The distant neon from the little town crossed over her paint in a multitude of hues, though Snot Rod could see that her grille did not contain the same sort of glow.  
"You have allot of friends." he murmured, rolling up beside her.  
The silver-grey Mustang sighed, her eyes downcast. "Who are you talking about?"  
Snot Rod frowned. "Well, weren't all those cars down there your... friends?"  
He heard Reny sniff. "Ah... Not all of them."  
Snot Rod raised his windshield. "Which ones?"  
Reny sighed. "Mic, Darcy, Katrina, Jessie, and Brady are my friends. Rick might be too, but we mostly annoy each other." She settled closer to the gritty earth with a squeak of protesting shocks.  
Snot Rod waited for a few minutes, and concluding that she wasn't going to give in easily, prodded forth timidly.  
"What about the other two?"  
For a moment, the orange Barracuda was certain she wasn't going to answer him. He heard her tires squeak against the dust as she tucked them towards her.  
"They don't like me."  
Snot Rod blinked, confused. "Why?"  
Reny shrugged, and looked away. "Long stories." She closed her eyes, her grille etched in an expression unfamiliar to the Barracuda.  
She was withdrawing in on herself, closing him and every other car on the planet out, retreating into her own world. Snot Rod wasn't sure weather to leave her alone or stay. Deciding that leaving now wasn't advisable, the orange tuner searched desperately for something to distract her.  
"Does this happen every time you see your friends?" Drat! Snot Rod clamped his mouth shut, his hood turning a deeper shade of orange. He hadn't meant to ask that aloud!  
"Sorry... Ignore it... I'm going to leave you alone now, promise." He backed away, his hood burning.  
Reny giggled. "No! It's fine." She retained a thoughtful silence for a moment. "Yah, I guess it does. Don't know why." She shook her hood, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, "It's stupid."  
Snot Rod rolled his eyes, poking her side playfully with one tire. "Come on, Reny. If I leave you here alone, your just going to wallow. Let's go see what Wingo and DJ are arguing about now." He nudged her teasingly. "Maybe you can scare Wingo into another bush."  
Reny rolled her eyes and returned the shove, ignoring the barb. The two drove in silence for a while, Snot Rod on the left, Reny on the right, until they reached the edge of the main road. There, Reny paused, her breaks squeaking as she stopped.  
Hey, Snot Rod?"  
"Hmmm?" The orange Barracuda stopped and turned, his emerald eyes wide and confused. Reny was biting her lip, her hazel-green eyes cast down to the gritty red dust. Snot Rod rolled closer, and the silver-grey Mustang glanced up; her eyes, no longer timid, glittered in the light from the multitude of nearby neon signs, which painted pools of color across her pail stripes.  
"What do you call a friend?"  
Snot Rod blinked, surprised. "I don't know." He sat thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes roving over the night-darkened cliffs. "I guess a friend is anyone I hang out with. Wingo, DJ, Boost, you..." He stopped, considering what she'd said. "Does that count?"  
Reny shrugged. "I guess it does." She glanced up at him, her eyes confused. "But why do you count me?"  
Snot Rod rolled his eyes. "Really, Reny!" He poked her with one tire. "You're fun!" He gazed at her curiously. "How do you not see that? It's like you drive around without considering yourself for... Well, yourself."  
The Mustang snorted. "Is that a bad thing?"  
Snot Rod considered her for a moment. "Yes."  
"Why?" Reny stretched higher on her tires in an attempt to appear intimidating. The effect was so comical that Snot Rod sneezed, attempting to save face.  
"Well," he sniffled, rather ruining the seriousness of the moment, "I don't like it."  
Reny rolled her eyes. "Am I supposed to believe that, O Great One?"  
Snot Rod sighed. "Well, it's true! And you are my friend, no matter what your twisted mind says." He darted around her, stopping only to sneeze. "Come on." he sniffed, "Wingo and DJ will be wondering where you are. Do you know how many opportunities to observe them arguing you have missed? I bet Wingo misses that bush."  
Reny snorted. "Misses it! Hah!" She rolled her eyes. "If you're in such a hurry, hot rod, why don't you see if you can beat me to Flo's? It's been_ hours_ since I've had anything to drink, and I'm _famished._"  
Snot Rod chuckled. "Fine." He eyed her sleek form appraisingly. "You'll beat me, though."  
"Ha!" Reny shouted, revving her engine in anticipation. "Wanna bet?" Her tires twisted against the earth. "I'm not a race car, you know!"

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**Notes: **No, there's no crushing occurring here!  
Longest chapter yet! I hope I'm cranking out better chapers each time; some of the parts in here arn't too good. Anyhow, enough of that; enjoy!


	7. Race Car: Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_**The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars **_**belongs to Pixar; not me!

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**

_Clunk._

The empty oil can clattered over the asphalt, its various dents making its path somewhat erratic and unpredictable. Wingo had whacked it in the direction of Snot Rod, but the can, having made up it's mind to be rebellious, bumped and banged it's way over into reach of both Reny and DJ. In a flash of sun glinting off silver paint, Reny had swatted it back the way it had come, while DJ, afraid of perhaps being hit by the somewhat over-enthusiastic Mustang, cringed away entirely; the Scion had given up trying to hit the can entirely unless it was headed directly for him, because a collision between himself and Reny would surely end unpleasantly for one or both of the cars.  
The can, deciding, for once, to head the direction it had been aimed, trundled over to Snot Rod. The orange Barracuda treated the can with utmost caution, as though her were afraid it might suddenly grow fangs and bite him; there were a few sharp edges from where the metal had buckled from the strain, but the can showed no inclination of growing teeth anytime soon. Still, erring on the side of caution, Snot Rod hit it very, very carefully, in the direction of DJ. The Scion's purple-blue eyes grew wide, flashing several times to Reny: The silver Mustang's eyes followed the path of the can, but she made no move towards it. Feeling reassured by her lack of animation, DJ reached out with one tire, swatting the can a bit harder then he'd intended to. The rumpled piece of metal flew through the air, tagging an unsuspecting Wingo on the edge of one fender.  
While the Scion and the Silvia argued heatedly about the possible damage to Wingo's paint, Reny was otherwise distracted by a rare, though not entirely unfamiliar, sound coming from farther down the road. Something red seemed to be driving closer and closer to the little town of Radiator Springs, though the sun bouncing off it's grille kept Reny from seeing it clearly for several moments. When she could make it out, though, she let it be known with a wild cry of jubilation.  
_"Mack!" _  
Indeed, the red semi was driving down the main road to Radiator Springs, hauling behind him a large, fancy red trailer painted with the graphics of a hugely grinning race car. With a screech of breaks, Mack stopped and unhitched himself from the trailer, driving over to greet the colorful group of young cars.  
"Well, if it isn't lil' miss Reny. Hey, who're your friends?"  
"These are Wingo, DJ, and Snot Rod." answered Reny as she bounced up and down on her tires; Mack was the only one would could call Reny "lil' miss" and get away unscathed. The red semi also knew that, though Reny was happy to see him, he wasn't what was making her so unusually bouncy.  
By this time, the entire populace of Radiator Springs had gathered en masse around the trailer, having been alerted to its presence by Reny's exuberant yell. For just a moment, every car fell silent, every eye (especially those of a pale blue Porsche) were fixed to the rear of the trailer.  
With the creak of well-worn hinges, the trailer door opened to reveal a very flashy, very confident Lightning McQueen.  
"Ka-chow!" The slick red race car flashed the Radiator Springs residents with his trademark grin before winking at Sally, who sat there with a look of pleasant shock spreading over her grille. Half-in, half-out of his trailer, Lightning's pale blue eyes roved over the crowd in a searching manner one rarely saw the young racer use.  
"Hey, hot-shot! Over here!" Reny called, her cocky tone causing the Barracuda to snicker. The red race car turned around, and look of confusion crossing his grille for just a moment, before recognition replaced the former expression.  
"Reny? Is that you?" Lightning asked, his blue eyes widening.  
Reny snorted, rolling close enough to poke his side panel with a tire. "Really, Lightning, how many silver Mustangs like me do you know?"  
"Umm, weeellll...."  
Reny frowned at the race car, her hazel-green eyes narrowing dangerously.  
"Come _on_, Reny, you know I didn't mean it." The red racer gave her an enthusiastic shove, nearly sending the little Mustang's small form toppling over sideways. "You've bulked up since the last time I saw you." The silver car was too busy tottering about on two tires to send back a snappy reply.  
"Oh, and by the way," Lightning murmured, sidling closer on the pretense of assisting Reny in her plight to stay on all four tires. "Junior said to tell you "Hey," and to ask you when you plan on coming to a race."  
"Urm," Reny murmured, finaly mannaging to keep all four tires on the asphalt, "I don't know. When can I go?"  
"You're not a prisoner, kid." Reny twisted around to face the dark blue Hornet, who had been just out of sight behind Lightning's trailer. Doc Hudson tipped his sleek frame to one side, and considered the silver Mustang with his gentle gaze. "You can leave this town whenever you want. So long as you say good-bye to Mater first." he added in an afterthought.  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! There's a race near hear next week. You should totally come along and check out the sights before Junior, Leakless, and RPM smother me!" Lightning chuckled, but his light blue eyes were utterly serious.  
It was then that Lightning spotted Snot Rod, who had been mostly obscured behind Reny until this moment. The red car glanced from the orange Barracuda, to Reny, and then to Doc , his expression questioning. The blue Hornet's expression remained unreadable, his voice neutral as he addressed the pair.  
"Well, well, what have we here?"  
Doc turned a steely gaze to the the orange Barracuda, who gulped and shuffled his tires nervously over the asphalt.  
"This is my friend, Snot Rod." said Reny, her voice outwardly cheerful, though Snot Rod could sense an edge of thickly veiled menace hidden within. The blue Hornet raised his windshield, his darker blue eyes appraising the orange Barracuda.  
"Oh, really?" he muttered, raising his windshield higher. "Huh." Snot Rod shifted uncomfortably at the piercing and slightly mistrustful look in the blue Hornet's eyes. Was it just him, or was the veteran racer suspicious of the orange Barracuda's intentions?

The day before, the silver Mustang had journeyed out of Radiator Springs to the Carburetor County Library, returning with six new books to occupy her free time. Not that she really needed them, as the majority of her time was spent hanging out with Wingo, DJ, and Snot Rod. On occasion, though, the three tuners would wander off to visit Boost in the impound, or would spend a night or two cruising elsewhere. Reny had Boot Camp to concentrate on from five-thirty to six each evening, and the earlier part of her day could be spent helping Sally with the Cozy Cone, Flo with the cafe', or sometimes even Ramone with his body shop. After boot camp, Reny'd wander off to help Red with his flowers, jabbering away about nothing in particular while the shy firetruck nodded and smiled. When the later part of evening rolled around, the Mustang resorted to the vast stash of literature she'd stacked in a corner of Cone number four, and sat outside Flo's with the other Radiator Springs residents, book in tow.  
Today, however, proved to be the exception to this usual routine, as Lightning and Sally had gone out for a drive, and no sign could be found of the three tuners in the immediate area. So the little Mustang parked herself beneath a tree that grew a little distance from cone four, and buried her hood in a rather thick green book. Lost in the reading, the silver car did not notice when a car rolled up to her from behind.  
"Hey."  
"Gah!" gasped Reny, spinning around with hazel-green eyes wide and teeth bared threateningly.  
Snot Rod stared back, his mouth slightly open, and his grille registering nothing but shock. "Erm, Reny?"  
The little Mustang's chassis heaved as her eyes roved over the Barracuda's frame, as if she were afraid that the orange car was being impersonated. Satisfied that it was truly Snot Rod, the silver car let out a great sign, and sunk several inches closer to the sandy earth with a groaning and squeaking of springs.  
"You sound different." she muttered meekly.  
Snot Rod dragged a tire over the earth. "Doc gave me some stuff to clear up my sinuses. It won't do away with my allergies completely, but I won't sneeze so often." The orange Barracuda smiled shyly. "Sheriff says I'm a nuisance."  
Reny blinked, her hazel-green eyes growing wide as she chortled softly. "Honestly, I think you're more of a nuisance now then you were before!" She poked him with one of her tires before brushing some stray sand off her book, "One of these days you're going to surprise someone at exactly the wrong time with your new talent, and no one's going to be around to save your bumper."  
Snot Rod's emerald eyes grew wide, "Are you saying that you don't like surprises?"  
Reny sniffed, her grille turning down in a serious frown, "I don't mind surprises: I'd just rather they not come rolling up behind me when I'm otherwise engaged."  
Snot Rod blinked, then crouched lower on his axles, his fore-tires kneading the sand in anticipation. Reny, whose eyes had just began to return to normal size, froze with her front wheels pointing in opposite directions. "You wouldn't." she gasped, her wide eyes darting from side to side, as if looking for the best route of escape from an impending storm. Snot Rod only grinned and revved his engine, scuffing the sand carefully with each back tire before diving at Reny with a light-engined growl.  
The silver Mustang took off, the sand behind her shooting up in graceful rooster-tails as she swerved hap-hazardly over the desert with the orange Barracuda only a tire-length behind her. Reny managed to avoid Snot Rod's grip for several minutes, before one of her rear tires slipped on the grainy surface; the resulting fish-tail slowed her down enough for Snot Rod to make his move. Shooting into the air, the Barracuda caught her between his tires, his momentum propelling them over and over in the sand until they came to a stop on the fourth roll. Spitting sand out of his teeth, Snot Rod rubbed his right tire hard over Reny's cab, before the threat of an imminent sneezing jag forced him to release her. The silver Mustang darted to a safe distance and watched with mild interest painted over her grille as Snot Rod's violent sneezing fit shook the aggravating sand from his supercharger.  
"I thought you weren't supposed to sneeze that much after Doc's magic medicine." she teased, when the Barracuda's sneezing had been reduced to rather wet sniffles.  
Snot Rod shot her a look somewhere between exasperation and chagrin. "That stuffs just for allergies, remember? You'd sneeze too if you had a half-pound of sand shoved up your supercharger."  
"Yeah, well, that was your fault." Reny shot back, her eyes roving as far up as they could go, "You didn't need to attempt to rub _all_ the paint off my cab."  
Snot Rod shrugged, panting, "You said you didn't mind surprises, so long as you weren't otherwise engaged." The orange 'Cuda smirked at her, his emerald eyes glittering triumphantly.  
Reny was saved from answering by the sound of a grumbling engine coming from the direction of the nearest cone. Turning a full 180 degrees, the silver car caught sight of Doc, who'd parked himself beside cone number ten a few moments before, considering her with a curious expression on his grille. The red glint just behind him proved to be Lightning, obviously having recently returned from his drive with Sally.  
"Hey, kid." The dark blue Hornet jerked a tire, his dark blue eyes glittering as he summoned the Mustang to his side. Reny rolled up to him, confusion and curiosity painted over her grille as she shifted about on her tires. Doc seemed not to notice the silver car's apprehension, addressing the Mustang in his usual gruff tone.  
"Sarge tells me you've been working hard in bootcamp."  
Reny nodded, her expression becoming, if possible, more cautious.  
"Rookie and I were just headed off to Willie's Butte. How 'bout tagging along and showing us what you're made of?"  
This simple inquiry did little, if anything, to soothe the Mustang's nerves, because Reny seemed, if possible, more apprehensive then before. It took her only a moment to consider Doc's proposal, and an even shorter amount of time to reply.  
"Ok." she murmured, her grille set in a determined line.

While boot camp had done wonders for Reny's strength and stamina, it hadn't done much for her speed over a flat surface like a road or a race track. Reny was great with hills, shooting down them with reckless abandonment, her momentum carrying her up the next hill and down again; if she'd been born with wings, she would probably take off from the top of one of the hills and fly. On flat roads, however, she was no different then any other common car. Reny was not a particularly fast Mustang, though one could not say that she did not try the best she knew how. It was the simple fact that pushing herself to top speed was just barely beyond her knowledge. Reny knew she was fast: The silver car could feel it when she drove, a muted pulsing sensation that caused her core to ache with desire. The one thing that kept her from possessing it, from wrapping her engine around it and never letting go, was that she did not know how to grasp it. The night before, when she'd raced Snot Rod back to town, Reny had felt it pulsing, somewhere, just out of reach. The Mustang had pushed herself harder, till her engine sang throatily and her axles ached from effort, but she had not been able to break through the wall that seemed to keep that speed in check. Without it, Reny felt as though she was not yet complete, as if she were a puzzle with just one major piece missing from its center. This bothered her more then she cared to admit, and it was the reason that Doc's invitation had made her nervous. There was really no way she would ever turn down such an invitation, as she'd been tempted to sneak over and try "The Butte", as she called it, for herself. Reny had just never considered that her first few attempts would be observed, especially by a couple of race cars.

The pair arrived just in time to see one blue and one red blur rounding the final turn. Lightning was ahead of Doc by a tread-length, but the Hornet was gaining rapidly on his younger competition. They flashed over the start/finish line together, plumes of dust rearing from behind their churning tires. By the time Reny and Snot Rod had skirted around the rather steep banking and down to a more level part along the edge of the track, the two race cars had stopped and were in the midst of a rather heated argument about who had won the race. Lightning had just smugly admitted to knowing _all _of Doc's tricks, an assumption that had struck the blue Hornet temporarily speechless. Lightning was saved from the older race car's rant about what little respect young racers these days had by the appearance of the two young cars around the bend. Deciding that Lightning could be lectured another day, Doc rolled over to Reny, who was curiously examining the start/finish line (Snot Rod having parked next to Lightning in the infield).  
"You ready, kid?"  
Reny nodded tersely, her thoughts all focused on what lay ahead. The Mustang's engine growled as she scuffed her tires against the packed sand and grit, her hazel-green eyes narrowed in both anticipation and apprehension. The silver Mustang's chassis gave a little wriggle as she suckered herself a close to the surface of the track as possible without scraping her undercarriage. Lightning rolled his eyes impatiently; Doc glanced sideways at the red race car before turning an impassive gaze upon the little silver car who waited nervously with her fore-tires just atop the start/finish line. The dark blue Hornet gave the little car a nod, and Reny responded by revving her engine stridently and narrowing her eyes still further. A cloud of dust rising from behind her spinning tires, the Mustang drove in place for a moment before her tires gained enough traction to pull her forward. Without the ability to use her stellar hill skills, Reny did not move particularly fast over the surface of the track; she was by no means the slowest car that had ever traversed it's turns, but she was most decidedly not one of the fastest. Still, she was picking up speed as she went along, flying around the first corner and drifting high up the banking, her tires slipping into the grooves Doc, and most recently, Lightning, had worn into the sand. Gathering speed as she angled her chassis down the end of the banking, the silver Mustang headed toward the final turn; her back end swung her almost sideways as she traveled unsteadily over the unfamiliar bumps.  
Reny reached the corner and twisted her tires to the right, just as she had watched Doc and Lightning do mere minutes before. The world seemed to spin, and Reny felt her tires skid over the now strangely loose sand. Dust flew everywhere, covering Reny's silver paint thickly, and filtering into her grille and mouth. The Mustang came to a gentle stop on a fairly open stretch of sand beside the track, facing back towards the stretch of track she had just rolled down; her tires were splayed awkwardly over the earth, her grille shadowing confusion in its every form as she spat sand and grit from her mouth.  
"Maybe that roll in the sand went to her hood." teased Lightning. Reny, who was attempting to dislodge the sand that had worked itself under her fenders, frowned at the red race car. "You're a dingbat, Lightning." she growled, twisting her chassis about awkwardly. Snot Rod snickered from his place by the start/finish line.  
The blue Hornet rolled his eyes and sighed gustily, the sand beneath his tires creating a muted crunching noise as he rolled to Reny's side. "It takes practice, kid." Doc's usually gruff tone softened slightly, "Your tires weren't meant for driving on dirt. Next time, we'll get you some proper dirt tires beforehand."  
Reny, who's grille still wore a slightly bemused expression, nodded almost absent mindedly; some sand had worked its way under her hood, and she was having a difficult time preventing herself from sneezing. _'So this is what it's like to be Snot Rod.'_ she mused, as the urge to sneeze grew stronger still, '_Perhaps I should lay off on him about...'_ The Mustang thought no more, any remaining thoughts scattered as the offending sand was blow away by an explosive, and rather undignified, sneeze.

Reny spent the rest of the afternoon at Willie's Butte, trying time and again to hit that turn in just the right way. Her second try ended no better then the first, and the third was no more productive. The fourth time she spun out, again, this time rolling over several desert plants in the process. The fifth try, she nearly rolled over, a catastrophe only prevented by her stubborn will and a slightly pulled axle. The sixth time, Reny's water became slightly over-heated, forcing the Mustang to sit still for several minutes until it regained normal levels. It wasn't until her eleventh attempt to crack the secret of the turn that Reny managed to slide around the corner and shoot over the start/finish line. Evening had fallen, the orange tinge of the sky playing in intriguing ways over Reny's silver paint as the four cars began to make their way off to Radiator Springs. Doc and Lightning had gone ahead of the two younger cars, leaving Snot Rod and Reny to make their own way back to town. The two drove in silence for quite some time, Reny contemplating her day, and Snot Rod ruminating about and idea that'd been growing increasingly stronger as the day had progressed. Finally deciding that now was as good a time as ever, the orange Barracuda took a deep breath, and addressed the car beside him with more then a little apprehension.  
"Hey, Ren, you ever think about becoming a race car?"  
Reny frowned thoughtfully, her windshield furrowed. "Not really. I never had enough time to practice."  
"You do now." Snot Rod pointed out, smiling triumphantly.  
Reny rolled her eyes and sighed, "Are you suggesting what I think you are?  
Snot Rod chose not to answer, his silence confirming what Reny had suspected. "I'll think about it, ok?" she muttered, before glancing at the Barracuda from the corner of her windshield, "You coming to Flo's tonight?"  
Snot Rod grimaced, and scuffled one of his tires. "Actually, I'm visiting Boost with Wingo and DJ."  
Reny laughed, "Tell Boost I say 'Hello'."  
Snot Rod sincerely doubted that the purple tuner would even care, but he nodded swiftly: He could always slip it in when Boost was otherwise distracted.  
The lights of Flo's glowed just ahead, and the orange tuner sped up slightly, till the silver Mustang trailed by several yards behind.  
"See-ya tomorrow, Ren!" he called, before a sudden sneeze sent the orange 'Cuda shooting down the road with flames dancing from his tailpipes.  
"See-ya, Snot Rod." the silver car called, her voice nearly lost as the orange car drove out of range of her fog lamps.

* * *

**Notes:** Yeah, I know, this chapter took a long time, and I'm sorry for that. As iflip can confirm, I had a horrible, horrible case of writer's block. It's kind of hard for me to write cannon characters, and I'm really picky about how they sound; if I can't, for example, imagine Lightning saying something, I won't use it. It's a bit awkward in several places, but it is the longest chapter yet! Whether it's a good chapter for as horribly long as I took is up to you guys. ;)  
I want to thank everyone who's ever left a review, subscribed to, or even read this story. I don't say this nearly often enough, but I really do appreciate each and every one of you. If there's a charrie you'd like to see more of, I would be glad to attempt to include more of them here.  
There are also times when I need a few small ideas to fill the space between the main points. If you'd like to leave me an idea or two, I'd be happy to consider that too. Trust me, I need them. ;)


	8. Settling In

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars.**_**The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars **_**belongs to Pixar; not me!**

* * *

It wasn't much past eight AM the next day before the door to Cone #4 laboriously squealed skyward. For quite some time it had been Sally's intention to lube the gears and return them to their former, smooth operation; the dry, gritty atmosphere tended to wreck havoc upon the doors, causing them to require quite a bit of constant, careful looking after. Between looking after the Wheel Well and the Cozy Cone, the door maintenance had slipped pale blue Porsche's mind; it was a task that Reny planned to undertake the following day, as the aching squeal tended to grate on ones nerves. For the moment, however, the aggravating noise went unnoticed. Reny had only just awakened, and the grey-and-white car still wasn't in the full upright-and-unlocked position. Squinting against the vivid glow of the morning sun, Reny blinked once or twice, closed the door to Cone #4, and trekked down the street toward Flo's. The pale-green car had awakened about an hour earlier, and was busy with her usual daily task of re-stacking the depleted triangles of oil that sat outside the cafe'. She heard the distant, distinct rumble of Reny's engine gradually drifting closer, and set aside a can of oil just as the little car pulled into one of the vacant parking spaces; the Mustang still appeared a bit glassy-eyed, though Flo knew that her punch-drunk appearance would disappear as quickly as her first helping of the thick ebony fluid.

"Good mornin', hon."

The show-car set a can of oil before the younger car, then returned to the cafe'; from the amount of clanking going on, the Mustang guessed that Flo was preparing to replenish a few of the slightly depleted pyramids of oil set up carefully outside each space. Despite the tumult of noise provided by the cans, the show-car's voice still managed to remain audible over the din.

"How are you today?"

"I'm OK, thanks," Reny yawned, shaking her hood in an effort to become more alert, "Have you, by chance, seen Snot Rod today?"

The clanking stopped for a moment, and the former show car returned with multiple cans of oil in her tires, which she stacked beside one of the parking spaces. "He's the little orange one with allergies, isn't he?

Reny nodded, sipping her oil again thoughtfully, "Yes. Doc gave him something to make them less bothersome yesterday." She smiled slightly, her expression mildly amused, "Although it isn't that effective against the sand that gets sucked up into that ridiculous blower of his."

Flo laughed, "No, I suppose it wouldn't work too well for that." She placed the last can of oil atop the delicate stack, completing the pyramid with a flourish, "Anyhow, he and the other boys trooped out this mornin'."

Reny paused mid-sip, her expression frozen, unreadable; however, her expression flickered back to neutral so rapidly that one would not have noticed the change unless they had been watching the Mustang's movements with the greatest of care.

"So Boost got out then?" Her voice was carefully casual, as though she could not care one way or the other about the answer.

Flo nodded her affirmative, pausing on her way back for more cans, "Sheriff let 'im go, supposedly because he couldn't stand hearing him complain; didn't take him long to get gonin' once the boot was off. I'm surprised that Sheriff didn't go after 'em for speeding."

Reny grimaced, "I bet he wasn't too pleased about that, was he?"

Flo shook her hood, "He's still muttering about it between naps. They'll probably be in for it should they ever show up around these parts again." The show car back towards the main branch of the cafe', her pale green paint glinting in the sun. "They weren't exactly welcomed, and they seem awful flighty to me; I don't suppose they'll be back for a while if they can avoid it."

"No," murmured Reny, pushing her now empty can to the side with a barely detectable hint of disappointment, "I don't suppose they will."

* * *

Just a little way down the road from the new racing museum sat a dilapidated old structure that dated back to when Radiator Springs had been a pinnacle of interest to the cars who traveled on Route 66. The tiny building's white paint was smudged with age, and the windows were so filthy that very little could be seen of the interior. No one remembered much about the previous occupant, except for the fact that he or she had been a smaller edition. Even with the recent influx of vehicles moving into the little town, the little building had been left abandoned.

It was this that Reny intended to take up residence in, despite Sally's protests; the little Mustang pointed out that she could not live in cone four forever, and once she moved out the cone would be free to rent by paying customers. Both the Cozy Cone and the Wheel Well were already filled nearly at capacity, and it seemed as though the town grew only more popular with each car that passed down the road. Even freeing up one small cone would help ease a bit of the strain on the pale blue Porsche.

First, however, the building had to be made habitable. The cobwebs, dust, and departed insects had to be cleaned away, the grimy windows cleaned, and the smudged paint replaced with a fresh white coat. Reny had scoped out the place a few days before, but only then did she get down to the task of cleaning it up. Accompanied by both Guido and Figaro (and their rapid streams of Italian), the silver-and-striped Mustang began scooping out the debris that littered the interior of the dwelling. By the end of the first day, the combination of dust, insects, and a few abandoned possessions that crumbled almost completely when touched, amounted to a pile nearly as tall as the smaller of the two fork lifts.

Once all the debris had been cleared away, the trio of vehicles worked to scrub any remaining dirt and dust from the interior of the dwelling. This required the dint of much axle grease, since much of the grime had become ingrained into the chipped paint of the walls, and pressed into the floor. This resulted in quite a river of rather murky water that flowed out the door and seeped into the surrounding parched earth. Several seeds, having remained dormant from lack of water, sprouted briefly, fed by the burning sun and the constant supply of moisture, though they started to shrivel once the water became no longer available.

It was around this time that the residents of Radiator Springs began to noticed a definite change about the little car. Lightning had been right to observe that Reny'd bulked up while he'd been off at the races, but whatever she'd picked up during that time didn't add much, if anything, to her size. In fact, if you really thought about it, she really was a rather awkward little car. Her turns seemed choppy, as if her too-large tires couldn't figure out exactly which direction they were supposed to turn, and her body lacked the streamlined, aerodynamic contours of most other cars her age. This was, undoubtedly, part of the reason that she maintained a slower speed at the Butte than most cars who shot around its dusty corners; the other reason for her sluggishness could be attributed to lack of experience. Now, however, her frame seemed to be lengthening, becoming sleeker, more streamlined. Her tires, which had once seemed grossly over-sized, almost seemed to shrink: As a result her driving seemed to become more graceful, more put together, instead of causing her to appear clumsy and under-coordinated like before.

As time passed, Reny's days became spread out into a comfortable, if slightly monotonous, routine that involved most of her time being spent either at Willie's Butte, perfecting every turn and every straightaway-the occasional miss-step that resulted in the inevitable spin-out was to be expected-, at Flo's, slurping down another can (or maybe two or three) of oil, or parked snoozing in the sun in front of Cone #4. Rarely, if ever did she veer away from her ritual pattern, although she still liked to park under the lights of Flo's with the other cars, once the sun had set. Before that time, it was nearly impossible to park in the baking heat for any length of time and keep from fidgeting or knocking over several pyrimids of carefully stacked cans of oil.

* * *

Evening was descending upon Radiator Springs, painting every accessible object in hues that seemed to give off a vibrant glow. The stifling heat of the day had finally given way to a more tolerable temperature, and while many of the cars took the opportunity to bask in the gentle warmth, the little grey and white-striped Mustang was not among them. Luigi had finally managed to procure a few sets of dirt tires- despite Reny's tremendous growth spurt, Doc's old tires were still too big for her slightly smaller wheels, and would not safely stay attached if she drove at speeds of more then 30 MPH- and the little car was rocketing around the dusty oval with wild, yet careful abandon. She was no longer quite so painfully slow, and though it's take a real miracle for her to beat the likes of any race car, whether on dirt or asphalt, her steady improvement hinted that perhaps in time she would become a formidable opponent.

Reny was so focused on hitting each of her marks as flawlessly as her inexperience would allow that she didn't notice the heavy revving of a certain race car's engine venturing steadily closer. Lightning picked his was through the low, dry brush that dotted the otherwise barren terrain, flinching slightly whenever he passed a cactus; experience had taught the flashy young car that physical encounters with the prickly plant were not only painful, but also embarrassing. No matter how small or mundane they seemed, Lightning wasn't planning on taking any chances.

Only when Lightning was within a few tire-lengths of the edge of the track did Reny spot him. The first time she'd caught sight of a flash of red out of the corner of her windshield, the little Mustang had attributed it to being only her imagination. It'd taken her another round of the track before she'd figured out that it really was the red race car, and not a sort of hallucination at all. By the time this had registered, the grey-and-white car was already too far along on the lap to shout a greeting, and it wasn't until the next time around that she was able to form an appropriate hello.

"Lightning!" Reny's eyes flashed away from the track, her grille breaking into a large, vibrant smile at the sight of the race car. Unfortunately, the distraction of saying hello proved to be more then the Mustang could handle. Already unsteady on her tires, the silver-and-white car bobbled slightly; her tires slipped over the hard-packed earth, and an over-zealous attempt to correct the mistake resulted with the little car breaking into a truly spectacular spin out. Leaning back in a somewhat successful attempt to avoid being pelted by the small, sharp rocks that had been ripped from the dirt, the red racer was soon enveloped by a cloud of loose dust kicked up by Reny's spin; the cacophony of dust rendered him unable to see past the tip of his hood, and Lightning found it easier, both on his windshield and on his mind, to simply close his eyes and wait for the dust to clear.

Several moments passed before the cloud began to thin and the young Mustang appeared, looking dusty and slightly chargrined, but none the less worse from the incident. Reny smiled slightly before giving over to a series of violent sneezes, blinking through the dust and tipping her hood to one side until she could discern Lightning's once shiny red paint. "How's tricks?" she sniffed.

The cocky young car flashed an equally cocky smile, his blue eyes glittering mischievously, "Better," he conceded, "But you're going to have to improve if you ever want to beat the likes of me."

For some reason this comment seemed to further please the Mustang, "Well," she chirped, her eyes glancing at something just behind Lightning "What about Doc? Is he any competition for you?"

The red race car rolled his eyes, and his confident smile grew wider still, "Nah, I can beat that old timer any day."

"Would you like to put your tires where your mouth is, rookie?"

Lightning whipped around to face the Hornet, who'd driven up behind the younger racer while he'd gloated unawares. The red car gaped at Doc for a moment; the aura of confidence that seemed to radiate around the racer much of the time seemed to falter for a short length of time, before flickering back as strongly as before. His chassis seemed to inflate slightly, and the race car flashed a self-assured grin, though a slight hint of trepidation still crept into his eyes.

"You're on, old man."

The two cars seemed to have forgotten about Reny's presence as they made their way towards the start/finish line, marked only by a single line drawn in the dirt. As the sound of their voices exchanging mock threats

into the impending darkness, the little Mustang slipped up the hill, pausing only when she'd reached the peak of the bank.

"Race cars!" she muttered, settling down to watch from the sidelines.

* * *

  
**Notes: **First of all, my greatest and most sincere apologies for delaying the update of this saga for such an unbelievable amount of time. There is really nothing I can say, no excuse I can hide behind; I got lazy, I got writer's block, and I left you hanging without any update at all; for that I am sorry. I've been working on this chapter for quite some time, and I confess that is has given me some trouble, both with the dialogue and the situations I choose to put the cars in. I also lost the intended direction it was heading; I no longer think that this story will finish in quite the way I've intended, but I hope meer writing is enough to help see you (and myself) through to the end. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am anxious to hear what you have to say- positive or negative.


	9. A Dangerous Game

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Cars, **_**nor do I own any of the characters associated with **_**Cars. **_**The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny. **_**Cars **_**belongs to Pixar; not me!**

* * *

He wasn't exactly sure how it had happened.

Normally he avoided trekking out at that time of day, preferring to spend time in his office looking after the occasional patient. If the day was going especially slowly, he could often be found in his old garage, reminiscing about better days. Sometimes, when he was feeling especially pleased with recent events, he'd sip a can or two of oil at Flo's, listening in on the conversations of others, and occasionally offering fourth a bit of insight or advice. His routine varied little, if at all, really, and Doc was perfectly content for it to stay that way. That day, however, had been the rare and almost-only exception to his normal ritual.

The old car had found himself waiting to turn onto the main road that ran through the heart of Radiator Springs. He wasn't sure what exactly had pulled him from the garage, where he felt comfortable among the dusty, dingy remains of his past. It was as though some powerful, invisible magnet was dragging him forcefully, though not entirely unwillingly, away from his comfort zone. Unable to shake the restless itch from his chassis, Doc had turned onto the street with the blinding afternoon sun bouncing of his deep blue paint. He'd taken a slow drive around the town, soaking in all the components that made this place his home. Flo's diner wasn't yet alight, seeing as it was not yet dark enough to permit them to be seen clearly; it still caused a twang of fondness within him, however, of good times, and cans of oil shared with friends, both past and present. Luigi and Guido were parked in front of their tire shop, arguing about a new arrangement of white wall tires, composed of wild gesturing with forks and wheels. Lizzie was dozing on the porch that led to her curio shop, Hank Williams drifting softly upwards from the radio beside her. Sarge and Filmore were at it again, the old Army Jeep with snappy, gruff replies, and Filmore with his gentle hippie drawl. Sally was bustling about the Cozy Cone, making minor repairs here or there, and generally making the rooms presentable for their next occupants. Ramone had just appeared, painted a bright blue with stunning purple accents, and Mater was doodling about, drawing quite a few stares from some of the newer residents in town who weren't used to his antics. A few unfamiliar cars passed Doc as he made his way along, recent additions after Lightning'd put the little town back on the map, and back in the eyes of cars looking for a different place to settle down. They hadn't been around long enough for the dark blue Hornet to learn their names, but he'd do so soon enough- There'd be plenty of time for introductions later.  
The town was making a comeback, slowly at first, but picking up over time. It made the old car happy to see the place he loved so much reterning to its former, bustling glory, and at the same time, in some nostalgic way, it made him a bit sad. There'd be no more nights with a few of them gathered around Flo's, sipping oil and sharing stories, no more quiet, slow days, no more empty road that stretched as far as the eye could see. Most everyone was too busy to talk, or park for an idle chat with all the new customers demanding their services. Things were changing, and at the moment, the old race car couldn't decide if all this was for better or for worse.

Doc had driven past the shops, his tires touching the red-orange sand that made up the surrounding desert. A shout reached him, and the old car varied his route slightly, towards Willie's Butte. Driving down to where the surrounding desert was level with the track, the Hornet was met by the sight of twin flashes skimming over the track before him; one a bright, shiny red, and the other a blur of silver and white.

The red car, cocky and full of himself, was showing off, driving hard into the corners and turning so late that even the old pro had to catch his breath. Reny was concentrating too hard to say much, but occasionally Doc saw Lightning flinch when Reny gave it back to him, but good. Here, in the middle of nowhere, the old car let out a satisfied grunt, and a small smile flickered across his grille; some things never changed.

The Lightning had reached Reny's bumper, and was looking to, at the very least, pull up beside the silver-and-white car. At the moment that Lightning began to slip to the left of the Mustang, something, a stray rock perhaps, had caught Reny by surprise, and she dropped down just in front of Lightning. His hood met with the edge of her bumper just and their tires began to turn into the corner. In the blink of an eye, the little car was fighting to keep from spinning out, her back end swinging dangerously towards the banking, almost, it appeared, in slow motion.

All the sudden the older blue racer was hit with a sensation not unlike foreboding, as though something wasn't quite right. He could almost hear the high, painful squeal of metal bending back upon itself, see it disintegrating from a blow against the unforgiving banking of the turn. Paint seemed to scrape away before his very eyes, revealing the scarred, naked metal beneath. For one second, he thought he saw a tire shred away, the carcass whinging skyward before fluttering to earth like an ebony shroud.

In a single, stunned blink, the image he'd conjured had gone. There were no dents, no scratches, no shredded tires, nothing more then a pair of cars, crookedly parked on the race track where they'd skidded to a stop. Creeping slightly closer, Doc managed to catch a few phrases exchanged by the two, most of which consisted of mild insults mixed in with light teasing. Reny had gone on the attack, though she was fighting a smile that seemed to be trying to surface.

"Watch where you're going, you great lout!"

Lightning frowned at her, his blue eyes glittering incredulously, "Me!? What about you, sliding around all over the place?"

Reny scowled, but Doc could tell that she was teasing the young racer. "Well, I'm a rookie; you're supposed to give me lots of room in case I mess up."

Lightning raised his windshield slightly, "Well, if you really are a rookie, then where are your stripes?"

"Covered in dust." Reny replied coolly, flicking a small stone away with one tire.

Lightning shook his hood, fighting a smile, "How about I go get Red to wash 'em off for you?"

The Mustang opened her mouth, ready to send back another snappy reply, when Doc took this oppertunity to break in.

"Hey, kid!" he called. Instantly both of the cars glanced up at him, poised to motor over should Doc wish it. The old car eyed them both, especially the red car, critically: Was it his imagination, or was Lightning looking a bit _too _enthusiastic about possibly being summoned? Doc let out a slightly exasperated sigh; he'd rather not have the hot-shot race car probing into this business. The younger car did enough of that without Doc sending out an invitation for him to start prying.

"Reny."

Lightning stared disbelievingly at Doc, his mouth slightly open and his expression indignant. Reny's windshield was bunched slightly in confusion, her chassis balanced on the tips of her tires as though she might rocket in any direction with the slightest instruction.

"C'mere," he mumbled gruffly, barely loud enough to be heard over the distance, "I've got something to show you."

Around Lightning, Reny could be as sassy as any other car her age, maybe more if the red racer was really being cocky. Around the tuners (save for Boost, seeing as he'd been locked up), she could be inventive, with flashes of recklessness or careless nonchalance. She hid her respect for Sheriff in a cover of mild peevishness and stubbornness, almost a mirror of the black-and-white cruiser's usual attitude. In the presence of Doc, however, the little car maintained a sort of polite reverence and rigid obedience. Quietly, without fuss, the Mustang rolled up to the dark-blue car, leaving Lightning seemingly stranded in a field of reddish sand and rock.

The old car was not used to talking to other cars, especially while driving, and though he found Reny an interesting little subject, he had too much on his mind to say anything. In turn, the silver-and-white car was puzzled by this sudden summons, and held her tongue as they made their way into town via the main road. Her puzzlement only deepened as Doc led her to the old, creaky garage he'd filled up years ago. Reny had never been inside, and it'd never occurred to her to try to catch a glimpse through a window: Her hazel eyes grew wide with wonder, picking meticulously over the multitude of forgotten, dusty objects Doc had horded there over the years.

"First thing's first, kid," The old car let out a gusty sign, "Give that old oil can there a good shot through those doors. 'M too old to to give it much of a boost."

Reny spared Doc a puzzled glance, but rolled up beside the can and sent it sailing between the small gap between the shed's double doors with a hefty blow from a tire. The was a clang, an indignant, "Ow," in what seemed to be a familiar voice, and a flash of shining red shooting down the main road.

The dark blue car chuckled lightly, his noncommittal expression brightening slightly. "Well, now," he murmured, "That's one thing fixed." Almost instantly, though, the rare pleased expression disappeared with one sweeping glance across the garage.

"Reny, what I saw today at the Butte reminded me of something you should hear." The old Hornet took a deep breath of air, steeling himself for what he was about to say. Apprehension clawed through his insides, but pure determination, desperation, pressed Doc forward: He had to tell her, had to let her know what she was going to get herself into, what the consequences might be. Another breath was neccasary, but soon Doc found the words crowding on the tip of his tongue.

"You're young, and so you're going to feel invincible. All race cars feel that way, to a certain extent. The best racers are masters of fear, unafraid of squeezing through seemingly impossible gaps to get the win. It's the rarest of skills, one that can't be learned, and it's often what defines a great racer from an average one. But there are limits as to how far fearlessness can take you."

Doc paused here, his hang dog expression never changing as he watched Reny's reaction. The little car hadn't moved one tread-length since he'd started talking. Her expression was blank and unreadable: Doc pushed on.

"You have to be the master of your fear," he murmured, "But you also have to be smart. You have to make good decisions, use good judgement. You can't just sit back and say, 'Oops' if you make a mistake. It doesn't work that way, because chances are that if you mess up on the track, you're going to be involved in whatever mess you've created."

"It high time you found out just how dangerous racing can be."

With that, the old Hornet pulled a switch, causing a small light to flicker to life. The surprisingly strong beam was trained on an old newspaper article that had been suspended carefully from the wall. In the faded, grey picture, a car that greatly resembled Doc was parked sickly still. The metal of his sides had been dented, even torn away in places, and the dark paint was shabby at best. The car's eyes were filled to the brim with a mournful air, and his expression was marred by slightly groggy disappointment.

Reny's eyes were wide, riveted to the picture as though her very existence depended upon it. Her mouth cracked open slightly, mouthing the year of the incident that had sent Doc's career into a downward spiral, never to recover- At least, not until he became Lightning's crew chief, decades after.

"'54"

The racer nodded at her glumly: He could tell that she understood what he was getting at, why he'd brought her here to this decrepit garage filled with his old mementos, why he'd showed her the clipping he'd like to forget, but couldn't.

"Sometimes racing is your best friend," Doc glanced at the clipping, his dark blue eyes foggy with nostalgia, "but sometimes it can become your worst enemy. Racing is a game, Reny, a game of the most dangerous kind. Never forget that."

"I won't." Reny was quiet for a moment, her mind spinning with what she'd been told, clicking the pieces into place. Eventually, she found herself able to speak again, asking demurely, almost timidly, "Have you told Lightning all this?"

Doc tipped his chassis slightly to one side, his blue eyes calm despite the gravity of the conversation and the subject matter.

"He knows," he replied, "At least, I hope he does. He's been racing long enough to see what happens if you get careless."

Reny nodded seriously, her eyes far-off with her thoughts, still caught up in her new-found knowledge bestowed upon her. Almost silently she made her way to the shed doors, nudged one open with a slight creak, and began to head down the main road that lead to Flo's. Watching her go, Doc found himself feeling unusually pleased with the goings on. He knew Reny had listened, knew that she'd taken something with her that maybe, at some point in time, would make her into a smart, skillful race car to be proud of- Yet somehow, he could not shake the niggling sensation in the back of his mind that it hadn't done one bit of good.

* * *

**Notes: **I hope I've gotten Doc right. I kept trying to see the lines in his voice in an attempt to judge whether or not they fit with his character. The "speech" came out rather different then I first suspected it would- shorter, maybe, perhaps less formal, and more broken up. I wasn't quite sure exactly what Doc would say to Reny; just the main idea, that racing was dangerous, that she needed to take care. Whether I've done a good job, well, I'll leave that for you to decide.  
Yes, the apprehension Doc is feeling has a reason. It may be a while, but I hope that, should I prove faithful in updating, you'll see a connection. *wink*  
About the stripes: In racing, the cars driven by rookies have two fluorescentyellow stripes stuck to the back bumper- Kind of a warning to more experienced racers, I suppose. I figured rookie race cars might have something similar. Reny doesn't have any, though; she's just teasing Lightning.

Enjoy!


	10. Shades of Grey

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cars, nor do I own any of the characters associated with Cars. The only charrie I own (at least, thus far) is Reny and my portrayal of events. Cars belongs to Pixar; not me! **

* * *

The weather was just right: Slightly overcast, so that the sun was forced to reflect only off the orange-red rocks that made up the landscape around Radiator Springs, but not ominously and depressingly dark. The clouds provided some relief from the almost constant, often irrepressible heat, though those who'd lived in the little town for years had become used to such a desert quirk.

Business had been slow, with only a few cars making the trek out to the many shops that dotted the ebony strip of asphalt, so Reny had borrowed Ramone's paint sprayer for as long as the thin wall of grey clouds held. With slow, even strokes, the little Mustang spread an even layer of slightly off-white paint over the chipped, permanently-dust-stained old coat of the dwelling. Her grille was set in careful concentration, her hazel eyes never deviating from their course as stripe upon stripe of the fresh blanket was applied. The small, raggedy shell of a garage had improved almost unbelievably, seeing as it'd been in such a decrepit stake before. All the rubbish from within had been removed, and either cleaned for later use or appropriately disposed of with the help of the garbage truck. The interior walls had been scrubbed, and though there was no way to make them perfectly clean, and fresh coat of paint would do wonders for its appearance. Only half of the exterior had been painted, yet already it looked so improved that visitors paused and glanced at it with murmurs of appreciation and admiration. This made Reny straighten herself up with pride to the point where, Lightning noted with a twinge of sadness, she almost looked grown up.

A slit of moist pink betrayed her tongue, which had curled a fraction over her upper lip as her eyes grilled into the walls of the dwelling. Her works at the Butte allowed her to keep a firm and steady tire upon the spray gun, and even Ramone had been impressed with the cut of her strokes. It helped that she'd lost herself completely in the project over the last few weeks: It seemed that the only moments when she wasn't tending to some detail of the garage were when she was at Flo's, filling up on gas or downing can after can after can of oil (somehow her intake had increased even more then before), training at the Butte with stubborn vigor, or sleeping in cone number four with her tires tucked well under her expanding chassis. To most, it was just Reny, using her boundless energy and enthusiasm to work towards what she wanted as she did with her racing dream. Doc, though, wasn't so sure, and even Lightning, who knew her far better than anyone in town, had to admit that even Reny was not so, well, obsessive, not usually. Still, it kept her busy, and while they had their doubts, the two racers kept their suspicions to themselves for the most part.

_Shhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhh. _The paint hissed softly as it was expelled from the sprayer and adhered itself to the desired surface. The blaring of horns, some further down the road, and some only a couple yards from her mirrors did not faze the Mustang, not in her current trance. Her concentration was so great, in fact, that the snorting of an engine that should've been as familiar as her own completely escaped her notice.

Peering around his supercharger, which he'd recently washed to a gleaming mirror shine, the orange 'Cuda snuffled softly and blinked his clear green eyes as he gazed at the grey and silver car. It was just his luck that the breeze was clam today, or the resulting puffs of dust would've sent him into a paroxysm of violent hacking. As it was, a few grains of red-brown dust had worked themselves between the butterfly valves of his supercharger, and the result was no less then predictable: He sneezed, hard, orange and red and yellow flames billowing from his pipes and filling the air with a slightly singed odor.

The whoosh of the sprayer suddenly cut off as the trigger was released, a small drip of paint landing with the most muffle of plops into the dry, gritty earth. Reny tipped her hood to one side, cocking her mirrors as she tried to identify what she'd heard. She knew that sound, from somewhere, but it was only when another sniffle and a soft cough broke from the other car that she wheeled around, ready for a confrontation should be prove to have some sort of sinister intent.

"Snot Rod!"

Reny almost dropped the paint sprayer in her surprise, her eyes lighting up almost instantly at the sight of her old friend. It was when she caught the gleam of sun off graffiti-colored paint and electronics that revealed the pair of tuners who were nearly concealed by Snot Rod's wide, orange frame that her grille bloomed into a huge, utterly exuberant grin. She'd never admitted it, not even to Lightning, but she'd missed them since the moment she'd found out they'd skipped town without saying good-bye, almost to the point of rendering herself immobile; a fate her garage had saved her from.

"What're you guys doing here?"

Snot Rod grinned; before his hood wrinkled and he let out another tremendous sneeze, "We were in the area and thought we'd stop by," he sniffed, his green eyes straining to see around his over-sized blower. Wingo snorted, his brown eyes rolling as he peeped out further from behind the 'Cuda. "Yeah, right!" He glanced around furtively and spoke out in a stage whisper, "Such a casual visit is why we went 60 over the speed limit the whole way into town." DJ nodded, lifting one of his tires and examining it as though grieved. "I think they're worn down all the way to the cords…"

Reny snorted, accenting it with an obvious roll of her eyes; her grin widening as she drove closer to peer down at his tires. "As it just so happens, I can get you a discount at Luigi's easy." She twitched her windshield higher, her hazel eyes glittering in a spark of cheekiness. "That is, if you'll promise not to get into a shouting match the next time you can't agree on what music to play."

DJ shifted his tires in a manner that seemed to be chagrinned, glancing to Wingo who had taken on the appearance of a rather peeved cat. Snot Rod just smothered his smile, his emerald eyes catching Reny's in shared mirth.

Despite this happy reunion, there was one presence that was obviously lacking in the little town. The silver and grey Mustang peered around the trio of boys, and seeing no one else frowned in befuddled contemplation. "Haven't you forgotten someone?"

The three cars glanced at each other, DJ looking somewhat worried, Wingo highly amused, and Snot Rod smirking softly.

"Oh, well, you know Boost."

Snot Rod snickered, and even DJ smiled as though the three of them were in on some private joke- Which, in a way, they were. Reny just rolled her eyes and leaned back on her tires with a soft squeak of shocks and an exasperated sigh. "For the record, I never spent a whole lot of time around him as you'll remember, seeing as he spent most of his time here behind chain link. So, no, I don't know him from anything more then what you guys told me and what little bit I've seen for myself."

Cheshire-type grins were her only answer at first, and Reny couldn't keep herself from laughing hard enough to keep her words from being entirely serious. "Alright, guys, come on, spill it- What'd he do this time?"

Much to Wingo's displeasure, as he would've liked to hold the secret over Reny's hood for a good while longer, Snot Rod found himself no longer able to keep silent. "Oh, not much- He's just gone and gotten himself thrown in jail."

The Mustang blinked, once, then wrinkled her windshield and shot the trio a bemused glance.

"So why is Boost the only one locked away? I thought you guys were a team?"

"Funny story," Wingo huffed. DJ just rolled his eyes. "So, we're in this restaurant, right? Another dinky little town, almost the picture-perfect twin of this one." He gestured with a tire, sweeping it over the buildings, some with cars resting outside them. "Snot Rod and I saw some nice-looking girls, so we went to see if we could charm the hubcaps off 'em." The orange 'Cuda's hood turned a darker shade of orange, and he shuffled his tires nervously.  
"Didn't work out," Wingo sighed, frowning lightly. "So, while we're outside epically failing that, Boost started flirting with this waitress- Cute little Suzuki- and her boyfriend didn't take too kindly to that." The purple and green tuner grimaced, and his boxy companion winced at the memory. "So, they started fighting. Thing is, a car of Boost's size is not much of a match for a Hummer. Police pulled 'em apart." The Silvia nodded in the Scion's direction. "DJ was at the counter ordering something from an old Buick who must've been half-blind, so he's okay. But now Boost won't be out for at least a month, and we can only visit him for about an hour a day, so…"

Reny grinned cheekily. "I was your last resort."

Snot Rod sneezed, blowing dust over a horrified Wingo's newly waxed paint. "Actually, no." He'd remained mostly silent throughout the telling of the tale, an occasional sniff or sneeze having been the only sign that he existed at all. This time, it was Wingo's turn to role his own brown eyes. "Figure we might as well," he explained. "Snot Rod's been hanging over everything like a dirty wet mop."

"I have not been hanging!" Snot Rod' voice rose in pitch as he defended himself.

The Silvia snorted and raised a corner of his windshield to eye his orange friend incredulously. "Uh huh. Yeah, sure." He nudged DJ and winked a single gleaming brown eye, causing the Scion to snicker softly and nearly inaudibly.

"You-!" Snot Rod was blushing now, looking more red then orange. His eyes traveled to Reny, but if he was looking for support he found none from her. The little car was shaking, tears welling in her eyes as she tried her darndest not to laugh at the little tiff going on right before her eyes. Looking almost dejected, the 'Cuda took a shaky breath and started in on the purple and green Silvia. "If you're implying something-!"

Seeing as the four cars had been shouting at each other at intervals, it was practically impossible for the reunion to go unnoticed by anyone in the little town. Countless pairs of curious eyes, mostly from the town's original residents, and some from cars that had taken up living in Radiator Springs more recently, peeped at them from inside buildings and driveways where they were parked. Several of them smiled or turned to speak to one another, clearly not bothered by the appearance of the three Delinquent Road Hazards. There were, however, a couple of exceptions. The two-toned police cruiser, who just happened to be at Flo's sipping a quart of oil, glowered at them coldly and huffed repeatedly under his moustache. He'd hoped, though he felt a twinge of guilt for having done so, that the tuners and the muscle car would stay far, far from Radiator Springs. Let them pester some younger cop, one who would find thrill in the chase and not find himself with a blown gasket an hour after pursuing them across the desert.

Doc, who had been observing the eager exchange, scowled and let out an exasperated, "Huh." Lightning, who was parked nearby, shot the older race car a puzzled glance.

"What's wrong Doc? Got a bit of gravel jammed in your wheel well?" He smiled cockily, enjoying his joke.

Doc shot the hot-shot kid a glare, snapping, "This is no joking matter!" The smile oozed off of Lightning's grille, his expression becoming one of concern. "What's up?"

Doc's brooding eyes were trained on the young cars that were laughing and horsing around just across the street.

What was he supposed to tell the young racer? That he'd had some strange, nagging feeling of foreboding creep over him so suddenly that he hadn't seen it coming? That, no matter how hard he tried, he could shake the disturbing feeling out of his subconscious, out of his mind?

"It's nothing you need to worry about, kid."

The red race car bristled at being blown off in such a manner, his blue eyes flashing as he raised his hood in defiance of the older car's words. "Ohhh, I see how it is. You're just worried about those boys, aren't you?"

Doc grunted, a sign that Lightning had touched a nerve. One could see his axles stiffen as he drew his tires in towards himself like a boxer preparing to take a punch. Few would dare to push him further, but Lightning was one of those few who dared to do more than toe the line. His voice was softer now, almost nostalgic, as though he were talking to a child. "Doc, if those boys hadn't run Mack off the road, I wouldn't be here today."

Another grunt. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Trying to calm himself, Lightning inhaled deeply and picked his words with a care the impulsive young race car seldom showed towards anything. "The town might not have changed. I might not have changed. But that's not what I was thinking of." A laugh gave him cause to shift enough to catch a glance of Reny, her chassis shaking from something one of the trio had said. "She's 15, Doc, almost 16, but she still needs cars her own age to hang out with. There's only so much us old fellows can do." He smiled, half-cheekily at the dark blue Hornet, who simply eyed him with an almost impassive expression, were it not for the spark of irritation in his equally blue eyes. "Other cars come through town all the time."

Another sigh. "Not like that, Doc. Most of the time it's older couples, or couples on their honeymoon, or younger couples with screaming children." He winced as though he could feel his cab beginning to ache from the incessant cries. "Honestly, how many teenagers have you actually seen driving down Mainstreet?"

Silence was his only reply, a sign of stubborn defeat for the Hornet, at least on that section of the topic for the moment. "I still don't like it, Lightning. They're years away from her age wise, and to be frank, I don't like the way they tear through town like it's theirs to do with what they so please."

"Reny keeps them in line- Mostly."

Doc nearly growled as Lightning smirked smugly at him. "You know, kid, you can be a real pain in the tailpipe sometimes."

The gleaming red racer chortled, his blue eyes dancing as he turned towards the sound of yet another laugh. "Yeah, but I'm right!

* * *

It was about that time when Reny's training picked up.

In his restlessness, Doc had spent a great deal of time attempting to distract himself by puzzling out a regimen for the young car. There was little reason for her to focus most of her workouts on boot camp anymore, save for conditioning her strength. No, no, her problem was speed, and that was a problem the old racer intended to fix. Time would tell if she had any, and though he wouldn't say so out loud, Doc was quite convinced that she could more than keep pace with any field in time. Like most young cars, cars who intended one day to race, her speed needed only to be coaxed from her and the rest would follow with little to no effort on anyone's part. In many ways, though, that was much easier said than done, particularly for the car under scrutiny.

It could be said that the old Hornet had an ulterior motive as well. Despite Lightning's attempts to soothe his feelings, to alleviate the thickly veiled hostility towards them, Doc still felt no better about Reny's now-constant companions. It wasn't just that he lacked respect for the DRH as a whole, being the ruffians that they were. Even with that he might've been able to tolerate the thought of them gallivanting around _their _town, so long as they remained within the bounds of the law- and he grudgingly had to admit that the young racer had been right on that point. Save for a few minor accidents that were truly, well, accidents, the boys had been marvelously well behaved. Even Sheriff had grumbled over his morning oil that he'd had little to do over the past few weeks besides nap in the shade of the Radiator Springs welcome sign- Not that he really minded. Yet, Doc's paint still prickled whenever he saw the foursome laughing together over some small prank or memory, and only mildly less so when it was just Snot Rod and Reny. He hoped, if perhaps futilely, that if he kept Reny nearly constantly occupied, she'd be more likely to stay out of harm's way, and his too-vivid dreams might, just might not become actuality. So, with those visions of crushed metal, leaking fluid, winking headlights flashing before his eyes, the old racer took it upon himself to begin Reny's real race training in earnest.

The workouts themselves were brutal, so much so that even Lightning seemed to pale upon observing them. It wasn't that they were particularly complex, but over time they took a grueling toll upon one's strength. Of course, in time they would prove to be a great benefit, but until they built up Reny's strength they proved to tax it markedly.

"Again. Again. Again. Again." Rapid-fire, never varied, seemingly never ending. Run the banking high, run the banking low. Breaking starts, where Reny was required to come to a complete stop, then hit the glass and blow off the start/finish line as quickly as possible. Speed trials, where she raced against the clock until she could cont down the seconds almost perfectly without even devoting extra energy to it- not that there was any to spare-, drifts where she had to dig as deeply into the corner as she could without spinning out, something that took a terrible toll on her axles as far as comfort was concerned, and the hundreds upon hundreds of laps she ran every single day for hours on end without fail. The affect on Reny was to be expected of one carrying such a heavy burden. When she wasn't training, she was almost always sleeping, hard, but even then the fatigue from her lessons created raccoon-like circles under her windshield. Her apatite bobbled, and then trailed off almost completely, and progress on her garage came to a complete standstill. So too did her personality warp, perhaps not overly perceptibly, but enough to become more worrying to those who knew her best.

There came a point in time where Lightning, after watching Reny wince her way into Cone Number Four on aching axles after listlessly swallowing only about a half can of oil for lunch, found himself unable to watch in silence any longer. He knew she's have only a few hours before her alarm would go off, and she would totter her way back to Willy's Butte for an afternoon packed with more exercises, more training, more endless circles around the little dirt oval. It was that thought that moved him to take a slow drive down mainstreet to the old shed and nudge one of the old doors open to peer inside. The dimness meant that his eyes took some time to adjust, but when they finally did they rested upon the dark blue car in one corner, nearly invisible save for the sunlight glinting off his chrome accents as he sifted through the contents of an old cardboard box.

"Whatdya want, kid?"

He hadn't had to turn around: He'd seen the line of sunlight lengthen and widen over the floor as the gap of the door increased, and only Lightning would've dared disturb him when he was ensconced in his little sanctum. There was some hesitance from the red race car, but with a deep breath he drove in, letting the door swing back to its original position in his wake.

"Doc, what're you doing?"

The Hornet stiffened, continuing to sort through the box with slow, careful tires. His expression was impassive, as usual, but his deep blue eyes seemed to gleam with a harder light then they had a few moments earlier.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lightning."

His words were gruff, warning, but instead of cowing the young racer, they only served to inflame him further. His voice rose to a shout, and he rose higher over his tires in righteous indignation. "Don't play that with me old man! I'm talking about Reny!" His teeth snapped together, and his nearly baby-blue eyes flashed as he glowered at the Hornet. "Have you seen what your little training program is doing to her? You're wearing her to death!"

Lightning's tone gave Doc cause to bristle, and his grille hardened into one of furious determination. With a swiftness that caught Lightning off guard, the Hornet wheeled about with a soft screech of tires so that his gaze bored into the youngster with such force that the racer had no choice but to look away. "Kid, if you think you can train her any better than I can, go right ahead. I won't stop you." More than ever the old Hornet sounded exhausted, and Lightning could tell by the dip in his windshield that Doc hadn't been sleeping well as of late. Still, the old car's deep blue eyes held the same calm as usual, the same expectancy, and also the same fire that, though well masked, still burned behind them.

"She's not going to wear out, kid. Her axles aren't going to snap, and her engine isn't going to blow up. It's conditioning, Lightning, something that's got to get harder before it becomes easier."

The red race car glanced to the track, following a line of dust motes as they drifted cealingward, disturbed by Doc's sudden movements. "But…"

"But what?" Doc lifted the front of his chassis, his dark eyes boring into Lightning's paler pair. "We've got to build her strength while she's young or she'll never stand up to training when the time comes for her to race. She might, for a time, but eventually she'll be sidelined with injuries, possibly terminal ones. I'm preventing that, Lightning. I'm making it easier on her, no matter how it appears." He failed, purposefully, to mention that he was probably working Reny harder then he'd have worked any other car her age. The visions from before, screeching tires, snapping metal, fueled him, drove him to take every precaution possible with the precocious youngster. He saw dangers behind every corner, every sign, and every car that looked to her longer then Doc felt comfortable with. Perhaps, he'd reflected, he was becoming paranoid in his old age, but on the other hand he'd never had such frightful associations of potential future doom with any other vehicle before, ever. How could anyone even attempt to ward of something when they had no idea which form it came in? Yes, the DRH, as they so called themselves, made him vaguely uncomfortable, but even he had to admit that she could do much worse than Snot Rod and his friends.

Despite being so unnerved by Doc's uncharacteristically long speech, Lightning refused to hold his tongue or the questions, the accusations that wanted to boil off of it and into actual being. "Then why isn't she getting better, Doc? You can justify her times all you want, but even you know that her time hasn't been improving like it should be. She's getting better, but…" He trailed off, and behind his fiery façade the Hornet could discern true concern: Not for Reny's training, or the fact that he might be harming her, not really. No, the truth was that Lightning was afraid and hadn't known it until now; afraid that Reny wouldn't be able to reach her goal, afraid of seeing how crushed she'd be if all she could ever achieve was below the mandated minimum speed most race tracks employed.

"Lightning…" Doc drooped on his tires, exhausted from the sudden rush of energy that depleted his already low stores. "I never guaranteed anything beyond the best training any potential young race car can have. I can't guarantee that Reny will ever set a tire on a racetrack for so much as an official practice session, or that she'll be any good if she ever gets that far." He paused, his eyes glazing over as he skimmed the artifacts in the garage, and lingered upon the age-stained newspaper on the wall: The paper detailing his accident. "Like you, I can only speculate as to her potential. However, I might be able to explain to you- if your cab's not to thick- why she's yet to show any speed, from a doctor's standpoint at least."

His eyes drifted back to Lightning, this time calm and thoughtful as he mulled over the words he'd use and organized his thoughts. He took some time at this, at last clearing his throat and shifting to a more comfortable position on his tires.

"I admit I've been working Reny hard, but if she's got anything for the racetrack it will be a blessing in disguise. Undoubtedly you ran yourself around so much at your age that you never noticed when your engine suddenly acquired a few dozen horsepower. But Reny hasn't had that opportunity, not until now. Sometimes it takes a period of such an activity before the engine components synch with each other in just the right manner. Reny's recent growth spurt has only served to further complicate matters, because while her chassis in bigger; her engine is still catching up with her. I don't know if you remember you last growth spurt, Lightning, but it calls for a little adjustment on every car's part. Once she makes it through that ungainly stage and everything comes together, she'll be fine, at least for a while."

He paused to catch his breath and allow his words to sink into Lightning's cab. The sun was sitting lower in the sky, as evidenced by the shift in light through the garage windows, and traffic had picked up a fraction, but the older racer paid no mind to the passage of time. The box he'd been searching through so intently earlier say, limp and forgotten behind him as he cleared his throat and picked up on the same strand of conversation as before.

"There's a reason why everyone's not a race car, kid. Besides the obvious desire not to get mixed up in that sort of thing and an incompatible body type, many promising racers can't compete past a certain level because their chassis never sync, or their engines never sync, or for a similar conflict with their internal workings. It never "clicks" for them. They may be perfectly capable of handling the strain of competition from a mental standpoint, but one little physical defect can prevent them from ever being competitive."

Lightning was no longer glaring at Doc, but was instead studying him with a sort of thinly veiled curiosity. Privately Doc chuckled to himself- If only the young racer were so attentive to everything he said. Granted, Lightning had improved, but he still had the tendency to be bull-hooded far past what could be beneficial. They'd won several races together, but there had been more than a couple instances where the red car's stubborn insistence on handling a situation _his _way had cost them a win, and occasionally a good finish.

"What does that mean for Reny?"

Shaken from his reverie, Doc sighed and shook his hood, not in a sign of denial, but in an attempt to reorganize his scattered thoughts. "The hope is, Lightning, that she'll amount to something. If she can get her chassis shook up to where it's supposed to be, the idea will be to race her in a few races with her horsepower level. Should she reach that point, then we'll go whole hog, so to speak."

Now it was Lightning's turn to take on a contemplative silence, but one grimmer then any of those Doc had indulged in. When he did speak, it was with a hesitant slowness and a twist of his grille that clearly displayed his distaste for the nature of his thoughts.

"An engine transplant."

Doc nodded and settled down lower over his tires. "In my day, kid, racing wasn't regulated half as severely as it is today. The only way she could ever participate at the Piston Cup level is if she goes through a few modifications to meet their specifications- Including her engine. We can tweak on it for a while, but eventually it will be necessary to replace her engine with something that can feed her the horsepower she needs. In doing so, we'll have to update several of her components to match that engine and improve her potential performance." He paused, his expression becoming more pained as though he'd been confronted with something unpleasant. It was Lightning who voiced his thoughts. "But she'll have to start over again…"

Another nod and this time a soft grunt, a sign of displeasure. "The readjustment period can take months, sometimes years. Some race cars never readjust." He twisted his tire against the faded crimson dust broodingly. "You've been fortunate, kid, because you've never had to undergo a transplant. You were lucky enough to be born with a powerful engine in a style that required few tweaks to fall under compliance. I bet you never thought about that, did you?"

Hesitation, and then the red race car closed his eyes and shook his hood. His elder grunted again, this time slightly less severe. "I thought not. You use your brawn more than your brains."

Lightning grimaced, unable to return the accusation with a usual saucy comment. "And if it doesn't work out? If she never re-syncs with the new engine?"

Doc didn't answer: He didn't have to.

* * *

Notes:

Yes, I know it's been forever since I've updated this story, and for that I well a truly apologize. A good deal of it was laziness accompanied by writer's block brought on by my having little idea about what to do with this story next. Further, for my junior year in high school I signed up for AP Literature and Composition and AP U.S. History. AP Lit is not bad, but there are times when I can say with complete honesty that I spend every waking moment on APUSH some days. But I digress. I will try, I promise, to update more frequently from now on, but if I don't for a while it's likely not because I'm just twiddling my thumbs. No matter how long that may take, though, I WILL be replying to your reviews from now on- I think it's a sort of courtesy among authors that I was not aware of until months before I completed this chapter, so you can expect me to do so from this point forward.  
Happy reading!


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